


All Amorous Alms

by Persipnei



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: (kind of), 1800, Arranged Marriage, Background Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolo di Genova - Freeform, Booker | Sebastien le Livre-centric, Booker's gang: $CAMMIN, Dominant Woman/Submissive Man, English is not the author's first language, F/M, Flashback Fanfic, Forgery, Hinted (past) Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko, Historical References, Includes Footnotes, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Paris - Freeform, Period-Typical Sexism, Rating will change, Submissive Booker | Sebastien le Livre, The only difference between Seb and Sub it's just one letter and I don't think it's a coincidence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:09:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 35,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28110687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persipnei/pseuds/Persipnei
Summary: The book was light in his hands. The leather was signficantly cheaper than the original first edition of the book. The pages were also thinner, since they lacked the quality of the paper responsible for containing thelettersof the scandalous characters created by Pierre Choderlos de Laclos.The very same typography, the ink dimming in the very same places with meticulous care. Every detail was there, as a perfect replica. Sébastien tried his best not to look at the illustrations, for he knew that it would only take a glimpse for his eyes to brim with tears. He kept flipping the pages with a burning need, not knowing if he wanted to find out if he was right about his assumption or not.Andromache and Nicolò's voices were now far, not even in the same room as he was. They easily fell into a second place with the idea of being close to something that could take him back to everything he lost. Even if it was just for a moment.ORBooker remembers happier times (can you even believe he had some of those???)!
Relationships: Booker | Sebastian le Livre/Original Female Character(s), Booker | Sebastien le Livre/Booker | Sebastien le Livre's Wife
Comments: 19
Kudos: 18





	1. UN

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** The story I share with you about Booker's past is my own invention. It's not supposed to be part of the The Old Guard movies/comics. The movie belongs Skydance Media, Denver and Delilah Productions, Marc Evans Productions and Netflix. The comics belong to Greg Rucka and Leandro Fernández. This story is for entertainment only and sure as heck I don't make any profit out of it. The characters of Booker, Andy, Joe and Nicky don't belong to me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He couldn't help but compare this mundane situation to the Judgment of Paris. Perhaps a little too crowded, involving more than the celebrated triumvirate of goddesses. Considering that the youngest was still trying her best to avoid his gaze, he decided to think of her as a companion more than a suitor. 
> 
> Sébastien had no golden apple to offer: he visited that house empty-handed and that made him experience even more shame. _Maybe that's for the best_ , he told himself, _without the discord, love will never end in tragedy and war_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can only say that I am obsessed with characters who can't overcome their sadness. 
> 
> I barely have time to write anymore, my life has gotten pretty hectic since August. But! This is very self-indulgent. I only wanted to give Booker a good time even if it was only through his memories. Does this fanfic going to fit the canonverse perfectly? Probably not. But hey... **IDC**.
> 
> I really want to write yet another version of how Joe and Nicky fell in love but there's plenty of research for me left to do. Also I would want to it to be about ten chapters long or so and that demands more time and dedication than this. Maybe in the future? Hopefully! 
> 
> Now! Title obtained from the novel _Les Liaisons Dangereuses_ by Pierre Choderlos de Laclos. Precisely from the quote: _“She refuses all amorous alms, and such a refusal, to my view, justifies a theft.”_
> 
> I hope you will enjoy it! Thanks for reading!

**VIENNA, 1898**

The ebony clock of the library allowed him to understand that, one: at this point, they lost the entire day with something that began with a mere triviality. And two: that perhaps he should have declined the invitation of having a drink —and all the ones that followed— the previous night. He kept wandering, as the expensive carpet muffled his heavy footsteps, barely paying any attention to the books gathering dust in the shelves.

“Hey,” called a voice from behind him. Sébastien turned around just in time to hear Andromache say: “catch.”

He cupped his hands and the apple landed right between them. If she brought him a snack, then that could only mean...

“Another one?” he dared to ask.

“Another one.” she replied with resignation before she took a bite of the fruit. She collapsed over the leather armchair and rested one of her boots over the little coffee table.

Sébastien fought the urge to groan and complain very much like a little boy. Still, he was unable to hide his bitterness when he said: “He's not giving up, is he?”

She chewed and partly covered her mouth with a finger when she claimed: “There's nothing more demanding than a man with a wounded pride.” And then she allowed that general statement become a bit of a personal accusation by only smirking at him.

Sébastien snorted and muttered: “Don't I know it...”

He played with the apple before he took a bite, resenting the events that happened that same morning.

Yusuf was to blame this time. He kept bringing up the fact that a chess tournament would be celebrated soon. And that, perhaps, they could stick around. That he was curious to see who would be the winner this time. It goes without saying that they were in Vienna for a completely different reason and that they didn't plan on sticking around for long. Neither Sébastien nor Andromache seemed to be all that interested in siding with him. In fact, the only one who did was, of course, Nicolò who smiled and suggested that maybe they should. That maybe it could be interesting. Sébastien still remembered the tournament celebrated in 1893 as one of the most dreadful experiences he ever endured.

And that comes from someone who was hanged _for days_.

Sébastien considered Yusuf a very entertaining man, someone who needed to stay active at any moment. That's why he found it so confusing that he was capable of sitting down and paying attention to such a passive activity for so long even when he wasn't involved. To that question, Nicolò merely answered: _It's a game after all_.

And a game involved _playing_ , something that Yusuf _clearly_ enjoyed doing. It showed in the way he smiled when Nicolò shook his head after hearing yet another of his bawdy verses, in the way he casually hid Andromache's shoes right before she left the house, in the way he tricked Sébastien into getting in trouble with him.

They wouldn't stay in Vienna long enough but fate wanted Yusuf to encounter Siegbert Tarrasch[1] that morning. Yusuf commented that the Prussian was _a bit of a square_. Such joke was far from being appreciated by any of them even if Nicolò, being the caring partner that he was, smiled and encouraged him to talk to him.

Turns out that Tarrasch was not likely to accept a duel by an _amateur_. _Did I tell you what he said to Lasker_ [2] _?_ Yusuf asked, knowing well that only his beloved was listening to him at that point. Nicolò nodded and insisted that he wouldn't be losing anything by suggesting the idea of a little practice before the tournament.

Yusuf stood up, approached Tarrasch and when he returned, it was to inform them that they were heading to a friend's house. His smile was dazzling when he confirmed that the chess player accepted the challenge.

That was Yusuf's _gift_.

He had a charm that was complicated to deny. He wasn't a charlatan. He knew those very well and Yusuf was far from fitting the description. He told him that, before his life changed forever, he was a merchant. _I'm used to dealing with any kind of people_ , the man explained with a smile on his lips and a hand on Sébastien's back, _you only need to find out how to deal with them. It's that easy, truly_.

The Frenchman was well aware that knowledge without charisma was _useless_.

He tilted his upper body forward and took a look at the following room through the open doors. Yusuf was sitting on a chair, giving them his back, while Tarrasch wiped his spectacles furiously, attempting to get his bearings and refusing to lose for the _fifth_ _time_. As usual, Nicolò was standing close to Yusuf, talking with him in a language that while Sébastien could somehow understand, couldn't possibly speak. The variations were there and a product of time he never got to live.

As soon as he saw Yusuf's hand resting over Nicolò's waist and the way he squeezed affectionately, he turned around in order to be able to control the frustration, anger and bitter envy that came with the reminder that life was unfair enough to grant some people something that could be _easily_ taken away from others.

He took a few bites more before he opened the window. He threw the apple core only to be caught by Nicolò, who was bringing them devastating news.

“Such an ugly habit that you have, Sébastien.” the older man sighed and shook his head.

Sébastien shrugged sheepishly and closed the window, as if that could easily erase his misdemeanor.

“Please, tell me we are leaving.” Andromache practically pleaded at that point.

Nicolò smiled apologetically before he sat down over the arm of the seat that Andromache took moments ago.

“Not yet.” Nicolò stated as the woman groaned, loud and tired. “He's considering losing so he will let him leave. I think it's for the best. There's little that can be done when it comes to men with great ambition other than allowing them to win.” Nicolò observed the youngest member of his family as he sulked, walking around the library with his hands shoved deep inside his pockets. “He's not enjoying it much.” It was clear that for him that was significantly _worse_ than the fact that they lost an entire day because of Tarrasch's competitiveness. “He's very methodical. Predictable.”

“A tragedy.” Andromache deadpanned.

Nicolò ignored the evident sarcasm in her words and kept talking: “Yusuf made the mistake to imply that he greatly enjoyed playing with Lasker[3]. That made him furious.” The Prussian reminded him that the other man was nothing but _a coffeehouse player_. The implication alone was insulting. “But we will leave. Soon. Tarrasch's friend will want his home back at some point.” Nicolò smiled at that.

“And we eventually need to go Cuba[4].” Andromache huffed before she stood up.

“Any news?” he asked.

“It's where we should be.” she opened the window and committed the very same crime as Sébastien did moments ago.

“Then maybe we s— _Very mature_.”

Sébastien smiled slightly as he heard Andromache let out a careless noise before Nicolò continued talking, not managing to make them understand that throwing apple cores was truly not the way to behave while staying at someone else's house.

There was something in the air that directed his eyes. Yusuf and Nicolò often spoke about _destiny_. Andromache, on the other hand, insisted that everything that happened to them had way more to do with bad luck than anything else. Sébastien was still not sure what he believed in. The only certainty he had was the suffering that his soul and mind provided whenever he remember everything that he was forced to leave behind and finally lost.

Sébastien scanned the books until he finally spotted two volumes that made his heart skip a beat: _Les Liaisons Dangereuses_.

He parted his lips. The air filled his lungs, unable to soothe the sudden wave of misery and anxiety the book brought him. His hands started shaking inside of his pockets. For a moment his whole body was rigid, flesh threatening to become marble at any given moment.

The color of the leather of both volumes, the decorations on the spine, the subtle gold of the title. He recognized them, for they were both created by his own hands. _They had to be_.

There was a very simple way to confirm his suspicions. Sébastien took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders. They didn't crack under the pressure they were under and that alone was a miracle. He raised his right hand and took the volume where he knew he would find the final evidence.

The book was light in his hands. The leather was signficantly cheaper than the original first edition of the book. The pages were also thinner, since they lacked the quality of the paper responsible for containing the _letters_ of the scandalous characters created by Pierre Choderlos de Laclos.

The very same typography, the ink dimming in the very same places with meticulous care. Every detail was there, as a perfect replica. Sébastien tried his best not to look at the illustrations, for he knew that it would only take a glimpse for his eyes to brim with tears. He kept flipping the pages with a burning need, not knowing if he wanted to find out if he was right about his assumption or not.

Andromache and Nicolò's voices were now far, not even in the same room as he was. They easily fell into a second place with the idea of being close to something that could take him back to everything he lost. Even if it was just for a moment.

He found the quote that would help him find out the truth: _Ces mots tracés au crayon s’effaceront peut-être, mais jamais les sentiments gravés dans mon cœur_ (These pencil words may fade, but the feelings engraved in my heart never will).

So in love he was when he took part in the forgery of that novel that spotted a typo in the original copy and he _had_ to fix it. Belshaw told him many, many, _many_ times that forgery wasn't about improving the original works they took _inspiration_ from. Those had to be twins, not slightly taller and more handsome younger siblings. The very same flaws, the very same virtues. No more than that. And yet, Sébastien was unable to let such quote be tarnished with a human error. Not when he could easily fix it. Not when, through someone's words, he could convey the everlasting love he experienced for the very first time.

Sébastien fought the urge to hold the book against his chest and licked his lips. Now he did close his eyes, only to go back. To remember.

Of course he had been right. _Of course_.

In the same way a father would recognize his child in the dark, a forger would recognize his creation among original works.

Sébastien knew both of those truths by heart.

**PARIS, 1800**

Belshaw's hands suddenly landed on his shoulders and Sébastien almost knocked the ink over the letters patent[5] he had been working on all morning. He huffed and frowned, looking at him.

The older man only grinned even wider and squeezed his flesh until Sébastien released himself from his grip.

“What's wrong?” This was hardly an odd behavior coming from him —people didn't usually describe Étienne Belshaw as 'a dishonest and unscrupulous man' for nothing—, but the way he continued to smile, looking _radiant_ and terribly amused couldn't imply anything good.

“I've got news, Sébastien.” he brushed the pots of ink and parchments aside as he ignored the complaints from the other's part before he sat down over the table. “I've got very good news for you, my friend.”

“For me?” Sébastien understood that work would have to wait until he would satiate the need his friend had for attention. “What have you done?”

Ever since Belshaw found Sébastien, fresh out of the orphanage, he took him under his wing and taught him everything he knew: the good but certainly also the bad. At first their partnership was strictly _professional_.

While Belshaw was witty and knew how to make a living, his appearance made him look far from intimidating. With a very humble height, standing about twenty centimetres shorter than Sébastien, with his big blue eyes and his head full of auburn looks, he could surely capture the attention of plenty of women —that, according to him, was highly important if you wanted to make it in his world— but couldn't make a grown man shake in his boots.

At the age of sixteen Sébastien couldn't possibly be described as intimidating either. Not when he was malnourished and terrified of the world around him. Belshaw told him that it was a very remarkable thing that he managed to make it to that height without twisting over himself like a vine. _None of the flowers that bloom in the orphanage are allowed to grow very tall_ , he stated. That was the very first compliment Sébastien ever got in his life and, to that day, it still made him happy. Still made his stomach ache with pleasure.

The problem was solved with some food, clothes that would make his shoulders look wider and the idea of growing —more like _trying_ — a beard to look both older and tougher. With years, Sébastien naturally became the man he was firstly hired to impersonate and far more than just Belshaw's bodyguard. They were now equals. _Associates_.

Sure, it was not a very honest or glamorous way of living considering they forged any kind of document in the back room of a very humble textile factory. The initial agreement they had with the owner was that he would never ask any questions and exchange, they could dispose of many aprons as they wanted. Not a very good offer but eventually, Belshaw got the owner to let Sébastien live in the tiny room upstairs for a laughable amount of money. After seven years of living there, he even found the sound of the stocking frames rather soothing.

But he wanted more. Now, at the age of thirty, he wanted _more_ and Belshaw was well aware of that. That's why he said:

“ _I_ found your future wife.” The initial emphasis was on his great deed. On the fact that his friend mentioned that he desperately wanted to share his life with a woman and start a family. He accomplished that. _For him_.

“You _found_ my future wife.” The verb was curious. Sébastien knew the kind of women Belshaw usually interacted with. While they were beautiful and interesting, a very few of them wanted to truly tie the knot with someone like Sébastien. They left it very clear as soon as he suggested having something more than a few nights of pleasure with a couple of them.

“I found your future _wife_.” Now it was all about the title. Belshaw recognized the scepticism in Sébastien's voice and turned it into reassurance.

And because his wish to become a husband and a father was so great, Sébastien shifted and swallowed, trying to resist the trepitation that was building in his chest. By the way Belshaw smiled, he could see the eagerness in his eyes.

Sébastien could read that smug expression: _Ask me, you know you want to_.

He scratched the back of his neck and shrugged lightly: “Who is it?”

“That's the best thing, my dear Sébastien.” Belshaw hummed. “You can pick. You have six Venetian beauties to choose from.”

“ _Six Venetian beauties_?” Sébastien repeated, far more incredulous than before.

“ _Four_.” Belshaw corrected himself with a tilt of his head. “The two eldest are already married. But you'd have to be very clumsy to pick the worst out of four, don't you think?”

“ _Four Venetian beauties_.”

“You have no words of your own today, Sébastien? That's why you persist in repeating mine?” Belshaw sighed and jumped off the table, approaching the younger man. “That's what I said. The six of them were born in _La Serenissima_ [6]. I heard they moved to Paris about ten years ago, when their mother died.”

“Right.” for some reason, he still felt a little reluctant about this. Both eager but already terrified of the future rejection he would experience: “And what's their surname?” At this point, his work allowed him to know plenty of people from very different backgrounds. Perhaps he actually knows the four Venetian beauties.

“The Martel.” he replied casually before taking a look at the letters patent Sébastien was working on before he arrived. He let out a pleased hum: a very good job, so far.

“Martel?” he asked, turning his head to look at his friend. “Like the clockmaker?”

“Precisely.”

“They are way out of my league, Belshaw. What are you talking about?” he grumbled, turning again to resume his task. He hated it when he did that: when he build expectation only to offer him a disappointment.

The Martel were well known and regarded in Paris. The head of the family, Gaspard Martel, had connections with powerful men. They craved the distinction of owning one of his creations in their manors. No woman related to him would _ever_ look twice at Sébastien. Perhaps not even once.

Belshaw dismissed Sébastien's frustration with a vague move of his hand. _Not a problem_.

“You wouldn't be marrying one of his _daughters_ , but one of his _nieces_.”

“What's the difference? Same surname, same honor.” If the confession he made was going to become just a way to tease him, he will never speak about it again. He will find a woman to love and start a family with all by himself.

“Not quite.” Belshaw denied and grabbed Sébastien's arm, making him face him. “He's not offering a dowry. Not many want to marry them, considering it won't be a very beneficial transaction. But since there's no way you can pay for a bride price and there isn't much you can offer...” when the younger man frowned, Belshaw raised his hands apologetically but still awfully sincere. “It's a good deal. Think about it.” And when he got in that mindset, there was little Belshaw couldn't achieve. “You'd be married to a Martel. That's no joke, Sébastien. There's prestige in the name, even if they are... Not the old man's favourites.” he grinned and his blue eyes tinkled. Of course marriage would be seen as a business through them. “From what I heard, they are good-looking.”

“They are Venetian _beauties_ , after all.” Sébastien snorted.

“Beauty is important.” he briefly explained. “Come on,” he squeezed his shoulder a second time. “what do you think? You won't lose anything. Go to their home, take a look. Speak with them, see which one catches your interest.”

“They won't let me in.” Sébastien insisted.

“Ah, for the love of God!” he groaned. “The old bastard is desperate to get rid of those girls! They are all over the age of eighteen and he has sons and daughters, himself! He has to marry them all well, the girls are a nuisance at that point. He will practically put a ribbon on the top of their heads hoping you'll take _at least_ one.”

Sébastien continued to frown. He even crossed his arms.

“What do you expect?” Belshaw sighed.

“Romance, perhaps?” Something genuine, at least.

“ _Romance_.” he repeated, bewildered. “Well! If it's romance what you want, you'll have to add it yourself to this story, Sébastien. There's little romance in marriage.”

“Not in mine.” he stubbornly mumbled. He spent thirty years feeling miserably alone. If he gets married, is to fill that emptiness that only grew in his chest the more time he spent in a lonely room without anyone to share his happiness with.

Belshaw rubbed his forehead and sighed: “Fine. Look. Let's compromise.”

Sébastien didn't look willing to negotiate about his future.

“Don't be childish, Sébastien. I can't take it right now.” he insisted and grabbed his left forearm, pulling him closer. “You'll go to their house, alright? With me. We'll go together. You'll take a look and speak with at least one of them.”

“If I don't feel comfortable, I'm walking away.”

Belshaw parted his lips before he nodded. “ _Agreed_.”

*** * ***

The meeting with the Martel was becoming more and more bizarre by the minute. Not only did Belshaw ask him to shave for the very first time in his life — _you must look reliable for this, not like a goon_ —, he also said that it was mandatory to go to a _brothel_ little after breakfast.

Sébastien would have loved to claim that he was a stranger to such place and that he was very surprised that it would be open at that hour of the day... But he got lonely just like anyone else. Sometimes he got an itch that only could be scratched with a pair of hands that weren't his own. This was hardly the most daring or illogical thing he ever did with Belshaw, but he still felt rather conflicted about going to a _brothel_ before meeting his _possible future wife_.

Because he still had his doubts that they would be allowed to walk inside of Martel's house even if he had no affection towards his nieces.

“This is going to be our invitation to the old bastard's table.” Belshaw looked excited as he walked down the corridor of the brothel. Some of the girls stood by their own door and whistled and tried to hold onto his arms in order to make him spend as much money as he had in his pockets. “Later, my darling, later.” he kept repeating, kissing hands and smiling charmingly.

“I can't see how.” Sébastien huffed as he awkwardly ignored the ones who attempted to get his attention after being turned down by Belshaw.

He almost blurted out the fact that he would be a married man —if everything went according to the plan...?— and that he couldn't possibly betray the future of his children like that. For a second he did wonder how that faceless Martel girl would react to other women trying to get his attention. Would she hold his arm? Would she stand between them? Would she snarl at them and remind them that her husband _belonged_ to her alone?

He sighed with delight at the idea.

“This way.” Belshaw grabbed Sébastien's wrist and made him turn around the corridor.

They stood by one of the doors. The very evident noises of lovemaking from the inside only made the younger man raise his eyebrows urgently: _Now what?_

Belshaw brought a finger to his lips: _Patience_.

He checked the hour and held Sébastien's gaze before he smiled casually. Those minutes they were supposed to wait in silence allowed him to have the chance to find there were two femenine voices in there along with a masculine one. How is this supposed to help him in any way?

The door finally silently opened and a familiar face came out. Her curls were wild and she was holding onto her robe even if she was clearly naked underneath. She didn't look especially happy to see Belshaw. She furrowed her nose as Belshaw called her name — _Aimée!_ — while clearly pretending to be pleased of seeing _her_.

“I hope you'll pay for our services. The fool still thinks it's on the house.” she extended a hand. She moved it away when Belshaw tried to kiss it and extended it again.

As he saw that he wouldn't get away with it, he decided that pay would be the wisest solution. “ _Gladly_.”

While Belshaw slid his hands inside of his pockets to collect the money, Aimée looked briefly at Sébastien. She smiled slightly and said: “Heard you want to get married.”

And she clearly heard that from Belshaw. Sébastien didn't need any confirmation since their visit here was, apparetly, a matter of life and death for his future engagement.

“Let's see how it goes.” he didn't want to talk much about it. The shame would be too great if he failed.

“It will be fine.” she offered, lacking a third hand to squeeze his shoulder. That was when Sébastien noticed that she carried clothes under her right arm.

“Here we go.” Belshaw extended the money and Aimée threw the pile of clothes at his feet before she snatched the money. “Thanks.” he snorted before he crouched to pick them up. “I'll be back when we are done, if you want? It's been a long time since you and I—”

“No.” she sentenced, sacrificing her chance to say goodbye to Sébastien as she slid back in the room and closed the door after her.

“Well.” Belshaw huffed before he shook his head.

Sébastien knew well that there was a story between Belshaw and Aimée. When he met him for the first time, the girl was already in his life, clearly waiting and expecting more than he was ever willing to offer. It took time, but it finally looked like she moved on.

“Let's go. We don't want you to arrive late, do we?” he grinned, quickly focusing on the matter at hand. He made Sébastien resume walking by putting a hand on his back and pushing.

“You are not going to tell me what was this all about?”

“We had to get your disguise for the day.” he grinned as he shook the pile of clothes vigorously.

“Disguise?” Sébastien asked, fearing the answer.

“You are going to be a soldier today, my friend.” he grinned.

*** * ***

Sébastien abandoned all hope of marrying a Martel girl.

The uniform was tight on him, his shoulders barely fit inside of that jacket and he felt like he should avoid sitting down to keep the seams from ripping. Standing was not a better option considering that his toes barely had enough room inside of the boots. Every step he took was like having needles poking right under his nails. And that wasn't even the worst part. The worst was the shame he experienced while standing there, in that little room, awaiting for the young women to arrive.

“Remember,” Belshaw whispered, pulling onto the jacket, as if that could help with the fact that not because he got it on that meant it fit him in any way. “women _love_ soldiers. They get money while their husband is away. Sounds wonderful to me.”

That was only because Belshaw was scandalously opposed to marriage, not because he had a point.

“That will be easy to explain when I, in fact, don't go anywhere or take part in any war.” His place was not in the battlefield, God knows that.

“We'll handle that when the time comes.” he replied like that was a very unimportant detail.

“I look like an _idiot_.” he hissed.

“Nonsense.” Belshaw brushed his hair to the side, to make sure he would look the part.

He was well aware that most soldiers were men with questionable habits and manners, but he assumed that most girls would want to marry someone who would resemeble, in a way, a prince. Sébastien was far from being regal, but considering what happened to the last one, maybe that was for the best. Still, it didn't hurt to offer a young blond man with a handsome face to four lonely girls. At least _one_ of them will take the bait.

“You want a wife, don't you?” Belshaw sighed as Sébastien kept scowling. The younger man nodded. “Then try your best to be charming. Smile, lead the conversation, flatter her, show your interests,” he went on while Sébastien looked away from him. “show confidence. Women like that.” he pulled onto the lapels of his jacket to obtain his attention back. Then he smirked smugly: “If it's any easier, pretend to be me.”

Sébastien stepped back because he was unable to slap his hands away.

“She'll probably run away, then.”

Belshaw furrowed his nose, entertained, and flicked Sébastien's left ear.

For a second he thought about holding his hands behind is back, but that was impossible. He decided to merely stand there, while ignoring the pain in his feet and how the fabric was digging painfully on his hips and shoulders.

He decided to entertain himself by looking around. Ever since they arrived to the manor, they were escorted to that little room, perhaps to avoid being seen by Martel's sons and daughters who were, clearly, far too good to be in their presence. Belshaw's interest in the piano was obvious and Sébastien could tell that if he could have fit the instrument in his pocket, he would have taken it home with him.

The three clocks that decorated the little room —one on the wall, the second sitting on top of the table and the third by the fireplace— had the very same hour, without even a second of difference. The ticking noises almost felt like a countdown.

He bounced when the door opened abruptly and turned to face it. He almost looked startled when he saw Gaspard Martel beaming and walking inside of the room, followed by four young women.

“Gentlemen!” he greeted them with a wide smile. “I'm so sorry for making you wait. I'm afraid that my beautiful nieces wanted to look their best for this meeting.” he quickly excused the delay with a casual lie before he shook Belshaw's hand. When he turned torward Sébastien, he bowed his head. “Caporal.”

And he was glad that at least he didn't have to shake his hand. Sébastien nodded back with a bashful smile. They will find out that he was impersonating an army soldier. Could he be imprisoned for this?

“Girls, come on.” Monsieur Martel insisted. The four girls were still standing close to the door. “ _Come on_.” he repeated a second time and it showed they didn't want to be there.

One of them sighed and stepped forward, leading the other three and finally standing in line in front of Sébastien.

“These are my nieces.” he rested a hand over the one that stood closer to him. “The eldest of the four, Sabina. Twenty-five.” A nod from the girl. Sébastien rushed to do the same. “Simonetta, twenty-three.” This time a curtsy. Sébastien was unable to go that far. “Santina, twenty-one.” Another curtsy. “And Sancia, eighteen.” Sébastien got absolutely nothing from the youngest, since the girl was far too busy looking at the floor, hoping to God not to be noticed. “What do you think, Caporal? Beautiful, aren't they? Very clever, the four of them. Talented too.”

At that point it felt more like a purchase than a proper meeting. This was not what he envisioned nor what he wanted.

“Stunning.” Belshaw answered for him when Sébastien was clearly at loss for words. The situation was a bit too much and a little too strange for him to be able to react properly.

In fact, the only thing he did was look and for sure, they were beautiful girls. The four of them had dark hair and rounded faces. Their cheeksbones were high and their lips full.

Beautiful indeed, but intimidating too.

Their hairtstyles and their muslin dresses reminded Sébastien of the illustrations he saw in one of the books Belshaw lent him a long time ago, when he taught Sébastien how to read and write. The ribbons holding the locks of hair in place and the diaphanous skirts of their dresses made him think of the four sisters as the closest living representation he ever saw of Greek Goddesses.

Each one of them had a few details in different colours in the decorations of their dresses and while they had no other attributes —no spear, no seashell, no peacock, no bow—, it differentiated every one of them from the others. Little details on their features —a beauty mark, squared shoulders, a pointy chin, or a pair of green eyes— offered every single sister a personality and an identity. He cleared his throat and fisted his hands, growning visibly nervous.

Was he supposed to choose?

He couldn't help but compare this mundane situation to the Judgment of Paris. Perhaps a little too crowded, involving more than the celebrated triumvirate of goddesses. Considering that the youngest was still trying her best to avoid his gaze, he decided to think of her as a companion more than a suitor.

Sébastien had no golden apple to offer: he visited that house empty-handed and that made him experience even more shame. _Maybe that's for the best_ , he told himself, _without the discord, love will never end in tragedy and war_.

“So,” Monsieur Martel urged him. “would you like to walk around our gardens with one of my nieces, Caporal?”

“Oh.” Sébastien finally blurted out. “Of course.”

“Which one?”

“Huh?”

Monsieur Martel looked at Belshaw and raised an eyebrow.

“I guess my friend here wants the girls to decide for him.” Belshaw quickly smiled. “It wouldn't be proper of a gentleman to take a decision for a woman he'll, hopefully, marry someday.”

“Of course.” The old man beamed and turned towards his nieces once again. “Don't be shy, girls.”

The three of them —Sancia was still desperately wanting to disappear— looked at each other and it was the one who still had the hand of her uncle on her squared shoulder the one who sighed and took a step forward. Sabina.

Sébastien swallowed thickly and could barely hold her gaze for a couple of seconds. Hazel, her eyes were hazel.

That small detail alone covered his temples and the back of his neck with a cold layer of thin sweat. What's wrong with him today? He didn't usually get this nervous around women. God forbid, sometimes he was even funny and witty. Must be the uniform.

“I'll show him our garden.” she stated. Then, she looked around. “Where's Ivette?”

“Why would Ivette be here?” Monsieur Martel asked to his niece as the other three girls stood there, to see what would happen with their older sister.

“Because she's married and I need a chaperone[7], perhaps?” Sabina asked a little insolently.

“My daughter is not here, Sabina. She has a house and a family to take care of.” And then the clockmaker got in the young woman's space and lowered his voice. Sébastien was close to them and could hear it just fine: “Just like you should. You are twenty-five years old and you'll get married. Do what you are supposed to do, understood? I've waited enough. No more games.”

Sabina tensed her jaw and tilted her chin up. Not one to avoid confrontation.

“I'll look after them.” Belshaw stepped forward. “Make sure my friend behaves.” he chuckled.

“Wonderful!” Monsieur Martel smiled once again. “Have fun.” he pressed a kiss against his niece's temple that she rejected by tilting her head away from him.

Sabina stormed out of the room and Belshaw smacked Sébastien's shoulder, telling him to go after her.

It wasn't easy to keep up with her pace since his clothes were awfully tight. The short train of her dress made a furious noise over the blades of grass that covered the beautiful garden behind the manor. It was complicated to walk without damaging the fabric of an uniform he _assumed_ he would have to return at some point. Still, seeing the back of her neck and shoulders so clearly gave him a motivation to keep up. The detail that a fold of fabric held in place with needles hidden under her green shawl was revealed to him when it slid down her left arm. The young woman tugged it back in place viciously.

So he wasn't the only one wearing borrowed clothes, was he?

Sabina stopped abrutply and so did Sébastien. Belshaw was still two steps behind them, taking a proper look at the scene that was playing in front of him, ready to intervene if his friend needed his help. He had the feeling that he would.

“Sit.” she pointed at the wooden bench.

Sébastien looked at it but only pressed his lips. That would be a complication.

“ _Sit_.” she repeated, as strict as before.

Sébastien ignored the fluttering feeling right on his stomach and turned slightly, carefully sitting down. The seam was digging painfully on his crotch and he couldn't fold his knees. He cleared his throat and reminded himself not to breathe too deeply.

Sabina looked down at him, with her hands on her hips. She sighed and shook her head. “This is unbelievable.” The man continued to look up at her, a little puzzled and clearly trying to find the smallest glimpse of approval in her eyes. “You actually had the gall to come to us dressed as a _soldier_.”

“What was he supposed to do, Mademoiselle?” Belshaw interrupted, standing behind the wooden bench, with his hands on Sébastien's shoulders, perhaps attempting to conceal the very evidence fact that wasn't his uniform. “Leave his occupation at home?”

“He is not a soldier. Even a child would be able to say that much.” she snorted.

Sébastien felt his cheeks and ears turn all warm. _He told him!_

“Of course he is.” Belshaw chuckled like she was nothing but a silly girl. Such detail was not ignored nor appreciated by the young woman. “My friend has fought in many battles. He is honorable, loyal, brave... He was lucky to keep his face handsome. Is he to blame for that?”

Sabina looked at Belshaw with unflinching determination.

“That's not a caporal's uniform. That's a soldat's uniform.” she finally sentenced, pointing at the insignia on his uniform. An undeniable fact that no matter how convincing Belshaw could be, couldn't possibly change to match his words.

“... _Oh_.”

Perhaps the man wanted to impress Aimée and tricked her about his rank, as if that could make his company any more impressive. It was ridiculous how men wanted to show off even when they seeked for paid company.

“This is unbelievable.” she shook her head and walked around, her fingers still tightly digging onto her waist. “Were you aware that we hailed from Venice? And you still thought that dressing up as a soldier was the best way to charm any of us[8]?.” she asked before she turned her head to focus her eyes on his.

Sébastien looked down, as his throat was dry and his palms soaked. He never experienced such shame before.

“You'll see, this i—”

“I don't think he needs to be translated.” Sabina interrupted Belshaw when he tried to speak for Sébastien yet once again. “We speak the same language,” Sabina had a noticeable accent, but good grasp of the language. “it's about time he speaks for himself.” Sébastien cleared his throat as she added: “So, go on.”

Belshaw squeezed his shoulders one last time before he stepped back. Treat him like a child in the eyes of a woman he would _attempt_ to court wouldn't be very beneficial.

“I don't have much to offer...” he began, deciding to be humble about it even if not completely sincere. He couldn't possibly tell her he was a criminal, could he? Even if she wore borrowed clothes, she had certain standards. Or so he assumed.

“Clearly not, you are wearing the clothes of a poor soldier. It makes me think you don't even have any of your own.”

“...but I wanted to make a good first impression.” Sébastien raised his eyes to meet hers. She arched an eyebrow and he felt his heart flutter. “This is important for me.”

The idea of having a family, a wife and children, was so important to him. He looked forward the day he would wake up and would be greeted with the sight of his wife, sleeping with either his son or daughter curled against her chest. He longed to be able to turn in that bed, reach out for them, hold them with his own arms. Sébastien rejected the idea of being alone. It was a torture, one he endured ever since he was born. He had enough of that solitude.

“Why? What do you expect out of marriage? What do you want?”

It was clear that those questions were necessary for her to decide if she would invest her time in getting to know him.

Sébastien knew that he didn't have to do this. It had been Belshaw's idea and the Martel girls were far from being the only single women in Paris. But something told him that he should try. Who knew what could come out of this other than a ridiculous first meeting?

He knew what he wanted. So he only had to say it:

“What I want is... Is to marry a woman I love and respect. And belong to her until the very last of my days.”

He was not sure if he said the right thing or not. It was, to him, for he was being sincere when he was convinced to visit that manor while pretending to be someone he would never be.

Sabina stayed in silence for a couple of seconds, still looking at him as he looked back at her. Her nose was small and her eyebrows thin. Her lips and cheeks brought to life with soft rouge. She was beautiful. Beautiful enough for him to want to reach out and feel the smooth skin of her features and neck.

“What's your name?” she finally asked. “Our uncle only shared your rank with us. Not your name, nor age.”

“Sébastien Le Livre.” he replied and that almost made him happy. If she knew his name, then he was in her world, even if that might not last much. The Martel sisters were perhaps not valued by their uncle, but they would be appreciated by others, sooner or later. “I'm thirty years old.”

“Le Livre? Is that your real name?” she inquired, not so likely to believe everything that came out of his mouth.

“It is.” It was now. When he walked out of the orphanage, Sébastien had no surname. It was Belshaw who gave it to him and the documents he needed along to prove it. As a sixteen year old, he was so focused on learning how to read and write that he always had a book on his hands. Sébastien refused to be ignorant and weak. He wanted to be wise and find his way towards success. “It is my real name.” he repeated with a nod.

Sabina sighed mournfully: “Sabina and Sébastien, that sounds quite silly, don't you think?”

“It's not so bad...” he did his best to smile, to see if she would reply the gesture.

She didn't but at least she no longer looked insulted or mad at him.

“Worry not, Monsieur Le Livre,” Sabina waved her hand. The shawl slid a second time down her arm. “I won't demand flatteries. I won't ask you if you think me beautiful or if you'd take pride in calling me your wife.”

“...I can't think why I wouldn't answer those questions.” he muttered, still sitting on the wooden bench and allowing her to control both the situation and the conversation. She was getting exactly what she wanted from him and for some reason, Sébastien enjoyed the idea of thinking that it was her who had the power. That she also _wanted_ to have it.

“Because I wouldn't believe you. You don't know me and threfore you can't possibly feel pride because I might be in your life. A beautiful face is surely not enough of a reason to get married. That is as much as I know.” So nothing he could say, for better or for worse, would mean much to her.

“My friend is not a liar.” Belshaw finally interrupted them.

Sabina looked up at him, this time allowing him to get involved.

“That's why I would rather know the man he is and not the man he isn't.” she explained. “You are failing to understand that my uncle most likely could tell that he wasn't a caporal, but he didn't care. In the same way he didn't care about leaving me alone with two unmarried men. Monsieur...”

“Belshaw.”

“Monsieur Belshaw, this might be harsh, but it must be said: my uncle does not care about me or about any of my sisters. We are a complication and he has no desire to marry us well. He'd marry me to a criminal if that implied an empty chair at his table.”

 _Oh, well_.

“You are not very fond of him.”

“In the slightest. I often find myself daydreaming about beating my uncle with a cane and stealing all the money he has in his pockets.”

The thought of the strict woman with a cane on her hand made Sébastien shiver, _far_ from scared.

Belshaw quietly laughed at the remark.

“I respect myself and I'll never marry a certain kind of man. His desperation to get rid of us won't push me to do something I might regret. I refuse to suffer any longer because of him.”

And that could not and would not be negotiated.

Sébastien nodded because he felt there was nothing else he could do.

“Very well then. Monsieur Le Livre, if you ever feel like showing your true self to me, do come back. I'd love to find out if you do own some clothes, after all.” She finally smirked at her own remark and there was a hint of malice that made Sébastien eager for more. Way more. “Monsieur Belshaw... If this was your idea,” she said before she walked past him. “then I advise you to think your plans a little more throughly.”

Belshaw mumbled after she left: “Bossy _and_ pendantic.”

Sébastien could hear the amusement in his voice.

*** * ***

“You have to be fucking with me, right now.” Belshaw groaned.

“Does this look like I am fucking with you?” Pascal huffed as he showed his poorly bandaged hands. “My fingers are broken. All ten of them, Belshaw.”

“I told you to stop tricking people. You are not as sleek as you think you are. You dumb fuck, you just had to do it. Couldn't keep yourself, you greedy dog.”

Sébastien only raised his eyes from the book he was reading when he thought that the argument could easily escalate into a fist fight. But then again, there was little Pascal could do. Sébastien was well aware of how much Pascal liked card games and how he barely ever decided to play fair. It was only a matter of time until he would get caught.

“These are my fingers, not yours!” Pascal huffed defensively. “What? Do I have to pay you for my misfortune, too?!”

Sébastien decided that it wasn't worth it. Those two tended to argue quite often. While Pascal was far from being their third associate — _more like an employee and little else_ , Belshaw stated more than once—, but he was a wonderful illustrator and they needed him for certain kind of works. Now, Belshaw would have to find someone else for that task.

“I would have wanted you to think!” Belshaw snapped at him. “For once, Pascal. You dumbass!”

“If you keep screaming, they are going to hear you.” Sébastien muttered, absently turning the page of his book. Unlikely, the machines made an awful noise, but he couldn't possibly focus with those two screaming at each other. _That_ he found rather distracting.

Belshaw rubbed his forehead and huffed: “Get out of here. I have no desire to see your ugly face any longer.”

Pascal cursed and very kindly spat on the floor, cursing both their fates and wishing they would get caught. _Either jail or the army, neither of you will make it_ , he sentenced before he slammed the door shut after him.

“He took it well enough.” Sébastien licked his lips, trying not to smile.

“This is a problem, Sébastien.”

“I know. But he can surely be replaced, can't he?” he replied without looking at him.

“The fuck are you reading?” Belshaw snatched the book from Sébastien's hands.

“Give it back, come on.” he huffed at the childish gesture.

Belshaw moved the book away from him, checking the spine of the book: “Livy?”

Sébastien only shrugged and tried to recover it a second time; another miss.

“ _The Abduction of the Sabines_.” he snickered and gave Sébastien a look that made him blush. “You think that your books might help you with this? Seducing a woman is way more complicated than that, Sébastien. How old are you? _Sixteen_?”

“This has nothing to do with her.” he sulked.

“Surely not. Let's see if history can help you in any way.” he teased before he began reading. “ _The girls themselves didn't hold much hope_. That much is true.” It showed by the way the four girls were clearly pushed by their uncle into marrying whoever that was bold enough to ask their hand in marriage. “ _But Romulus went among them in person to assure them that none of this would have happened if their fathers hadn’t been so inflexible in not letting them marry their neighbours_. No need to antagonize their uncle, she already wanted to beat him.” he added with a small smile. That he found rather funny even if the girl was strict and petulant. “ _But now they would have the status of wives with all the material rewards and civil rights of citizenship and they would have children, than which nothing is dearer. They should cool their anger and give their hearts to the men who had already taken their bodies_. You tell her that and she _will_ kill you. Didn't you notice? She had an awful temper.”

“I like women with character.” Sébastien easily excused her behaviour.

“There's a difference between entertainment and martyrdom, Sébastien.” The younger man said nothing and he decided to resume his mockery: “ _A good relationship often begins with an offence, he said_. No doubts there were no women in Rome.” Belshaw snorted. “ _And their husbands would treat them with extra kindness in hope of making up for the parents and country they so missed. The men added their blandishments, saying that they’d been motivated by love and passion, entreaties which are very effective with women_ [9].” Belshaw looked down at Sébastien. “You are well aware none of this will work, right?”

“Again, I'm not looking for advice. I only wanted to know a little more about the origin of her name.” he defended himself. Perhaps he wasn't all too skilled with women, but that didn't mean he was ignorant to the fact they were also living creatures very much like men.

“Conclusion?”

“...It's a beautiful name.” he muttered before he looked down and started playing with his thumbs.

Belshaw noisily grabbed a stool and sat down by his side, getting in his space. He dropped the book over Sébastien's lap.

“You liked her.” It sounded a bit like an accusation.

“I did.” he had no shame in saying that out loud.

“Why?”

 _Because she told me what to do_ , Sébastien almost wanted to answer. _Because she wanted to overpower me from the very beginning and I enjoyed that feeling_. _Because after we left, I pictured her whispering orders close to my ear and my body was on fire for hours on end_.

“I don't know.”

“You _do_ know.” Belshaw grinned as he traced his jaw with a finger. After a couple of days, the hair was steadily growing back, not as smooth as he was when he met the Martel girl. Sébastien slapped it away and Belshaw only laughed at him. “There's nothing wrong in liking bossy women. Just keep in mind that that might become a problem in the future. They are very...” he sighed dramatically. “ _demanding_.”

“I need to know her a little better.” The intention was there, the curiosity.

After a short silence, Belshaw suggested: “Should we visit her?”

Sébastien blinked: “Right now? Without warning her?”

“Her uncle clearly doesn't care.” he snorted. “When I arranged your first meeting, he told me: _There are eleven people living under my roof at the moment, Monsieur Belshaw, and seven of them are young women. You can imagine I am about to go mad_.” That didn't sit right with Sébastien, for some reason. “He wants them _gone_ , my dear friend.” Then he stood up abrutply. “Let's go. With some luck, I'll stop thinking about that stupid bastard of Pascal.”

Sébastien rushed to follow him.

*** * ***

One of the maids told them, while keeping them from stepping inside of the manor, that the young woman was in the garden. It was rather clear that their meeting was far from being an invitation for them to return whenever they wanted and even less be allowed inside of the house. He could take one of the nieces away but never assume he would become a nephew.

Belshaw cursed and grumbled — _anyone would say we had a revolution, we are right back where we used to be! The same old same old!_ — as they walked around the Martel's house, leading Sébastien towards the backyard.

Sabina was giving them their back but that view already made Sébastien want to roll his shoulders and tilt his head up. In the middle of the garden there was a rounded marbled table with a bench encercling it, perhaps created with the main idea of becoming a perfect spot for playing games. She was alone there but clearly focused on something.

“Good morning, Mademoiselle.” Belshaw allowed themselves to be noticed.

Sabina bounced and frowned, turning to look at them over her shoulder.

“So soon?” she asked.

“We wouldn't want you to forget about my good friend.” the older man beamed squeezing Sébastien's shoulder.

This time he could bow and he did it delightfully as the woman stood up. She tilted her head forward as a greeting, leaving a sketchbook over the small table.

“I see you come with your own clothes, this time.” she hummed and Sébastien smiled, enjoying the warmth on his stomach and the apples of his cheeks.

He didn't mention that there was a stark difference between the dress she was wearing today and the one she wore during their planned meeting. This one was light blue, still a little baggy on her narrow shoulders and clearly out of fashion. Her position in that house was evident: nothing more than an unwanted guest.

“Sit down. Let's see if we can unravel the mystery that accidentally became.” And with that casual sentence, he understood that she only allowed that second meeting to happen because she was curious about him too.

Sébastien rushed to follow her command, wanting to please her and cleared his throat. The fact he could bend his knees and relax his shoulders made a difference but he still felt nervous in her presence. Must be the very direct way of looking she had or the fact Sébastien could almost predict the biting questions awaiting behind her soft lips.

Sabina breathed and parted her lips before she tilted her head. Her hazel eyes landed on Belshaw: “Would you mind?”

He blinked, surprised: “Didn't you want a chaperon?”

“I think you fail to fit that role, Monsieur Belshaw.” she commented as she opened her sketchbook and reached out to grab the pencil.

“Very well, then.”

Belshaw understood that to stay there would only make Sébastien look unfitting of her attention, so he strolled around the garden. By the way he was walking, with his eyes focused on the manor, Sébastien could tell that he was probably trying to figure out a way inside of the manor in case he ever _needed_ anything.

When he turned again to face her, Sabina was already sketching. Since she briefly looked at him, he considered that maybe he would be her muse during that morning. He cleared his throat and straightened his jacket. Her lips twitched and he found happiness in her barely noticeable smile.

“So, Monsieur Le Livre, who owns his own clothes and is thirty years old...” she summarized everything she could find out about him during their pathetic first meeting. “What else is there to know about you? Sébastien is a rather long name, do you happen to have a nickname?”

It was a sensible question. A long name and a cheeky friend? Surnames were bound to happen. Still, his story with Belshaw began with _boy_ and ended up _Sébastien_. No more than that.

“No.” he denied.

“It's only a matter of time, then.” she shrugged, smudging the charcoal with one of her fingers. “Seb, Bastien, Bas.” she came up with a few on the spot before she grinned. “ _Caporal_...”

Sébastien couldn't help but whining, clearly embarrassed and desperately wanting to move on from the failed stunt.

Sabina bit her lower lip and nodded. “Very well, then.”

“Do you have a nickname?” Sébastien attempted to grow comfortable in her presence. To overcome that silly emotion that pushed him to think of her as someone intimidating. Someone who could get him to do anything she wanted with just a simple command.

“I'm afraid not. I'm not friendly enough.” the young woman huffed. “Our mother named the six of us. We don't use nicknames for each other, it's our humble way to honor her memory.”

Sébastien often wondered if he was named by his parents or if he was given his name at the orphanage. The latter perhaps since he remembered seeing a wooden statue of the saint with arrows on his shoulders, stomach and thighs hanging over the threshold. Not to mention there were at least eight Sébastien in the orphanage during the years he spent there. He was one of the three that made it out alive.

“Do you have any siblings?”

“No.” Sébastien shook his head. “Not that I know of.”

“Perhaps that's for the best.” Sabina lifted her eyes again. Sébastien straightened his back. “I was far from happy when I found out my father had more children with some of his mistresses.”

“Did he?” he blinked.

“There are four more... that I know of. Three boys and a girl.”

“They live in Venice?” he couldn't help but ask.

“From my understanding, yes.” Sabina replied with a small sigh. It was hard to tell how she felt about them. “So.” she cleared her throat. The conversation deviated from its main purpose: get to know more about him. “Are your parents still alive?”

“No.” Sébastien denied once again.

“You don't have anyone at all?” she insisted, tilting her head to the side.

She grew quiet when Sébastien could only press his lips in an apologetic smile. He didn't like loneliness. He always considered that it was a disease that made him weak and hopeless. He grew up alone. He experienced both joys and tragedies alone, without a family. He knew that men could change their fate. That life would progress and adapt. That it was no longer what it used to be. He had power to obtain what he wanted to achieve.

If he really wanted it, if he really tried his best, then...

“I'm afraid not.” he finally said.

“You do have your friend.” For a second it felt like Sabina took his side, almost as if to cheer him up.

Sébastien turned to look at Belshaw, who, at that point, was clearly bored out of his mind.

“I do. We are _associates_.” The word still felt a bit too honest for what they truly did.

“What do you do for a living?”

She finally asked _the_ question. The only question Sébastien didn't want to answer. Not only would it ruin whatever that was beginning —strange and awkward as it was—, but it could also put both Sébastien and Belshaw at risk.

He swallowed and he shrugged. She waited, forcing him to answer.

“It's complicated.” he whispered.

“I'm rather clever, don't worry about that.” Sabina insisted, this time offering him all of her attention.

“It's just... Maybe... Maybe we don't know each other enough... Still? We shouldn't rush things. That could be... _counterproductive_.” he hedged.

“Right.” she snorted as she raised an eyebrow. Sébastien fought the urge to bite his nails, curling his fingers over his thighs. “Let's not rush it, Monsieur Le Livre. If you need to take it slow, you only need to say so. I wouldn't want to be a bit _too bold_ and scare you off.”

Ah, the sudden need to ask her to be as bold with him as she would want to... The attraction he was developing towards her assertive nature would make it far more complicated to have a clear mind around her.

“Very well.” Sabina sounded entertained. While she was demanding, she wasn't sour. That was good. She was willing to indulge him and take part in his games and that was... _wonderful_. “Tell me about what you enjoy doing the most.” she suggested before she resumed drawing his portrait.

“Reading.” Sébastien this time without a doubt. Ever since he learned how to read, he found it both enjoyable and soothing. Reading offered so much knowledge and the feeling that he wasn't alone. Like there were others, all over the world, that were very much like he was. Like he wasn't the only one who had to battle with that strange emptiness inside of his chest.

Sabina hummed, as if that was something they had in common. He wanted to know about her favourite novel or poem, he wanted to know what book she kept under her pillow, he wanted to know what author captured both her sorrow and joy with shocking accuracy.

“What was the last thing you read about?” she asked.

“The Abduction of the Sabines.”

“Were you hoping to explain me my own name, Monsieur Le Livre?” she tutted. She probably dealt with men who thought that she was truly unaware of such thing.

“No,” that would be ridiculous. While he didn't know who named him, he knew well what his name meant: _from Sebastia_. Sabina meant _of the Sabines_. Curious, right? No hidden message only a precedence that didn't apply. “I only wanted to know more about it.”

She sparked his curiosity. That forced her to stop drawing a second time. Sébastien's heartbeat sped up when she asked: “Do you find me interesting?”

“... _Plenty_.”

Sabina grinned. Her full lips stretched into a smile and he could see her teeth: the central incisors were slithgly crooked and wanting to be closer than they should be. Still, her smile was beautiful and flawed in a way that Sébastien considered that if he was a poet —no such luck, while he was an avid reader, he was a very timid writer— he'd create verses just for those two teeth.

Was this way of thinking normal or it was his desire to begin a family and to find someone who could overpower him playing tricks on him?

“ _Mhmm_.” she hummed and twirled her pencil. Sabina leaned forward, enough for the fabric of her dress to brush against the paper. Sébastien shivered with the sound. “I must warn you, my sisters often describe me as _awfully demanding_.” The same word Belshaw earlier that day. “That doesn't sit well with men. They want to be kings at their own home, through and through.”

“I'm okay with _awfully demanding_.” he confessed with a soft voice, unable to keep his eyes on her.

“No, no.” she interrupted him. For a second it almost seemed like she was about to touch his chin. “Up. Look at me.” Sébastien took a deep breath and forced himself to follow her command. “This is how I am.” she explained him. “I can't stop it. It's in my nature.”

That was a fair warning and for some reason Sébastien thought that she was trying to make her point very clear. Maybe others rejected her for that same reason?

Again, he enjoyed her temper. It was... something he seeked in the company he so desperately craved. If she was speaking truthfully, then so he should:

“I'm okay with _awfully demanding_.” he repeated a second time, managing to keep his voice under control even if his face was on fire. He even pulled onto his collar and it was a miracle that steam didn't emerge from his neck.

Sabina barely blinked and her pupils grew larger. Sébastien played with his hands under the table and shrugged his shoulders, as if he was trying to find comfort in them or even desperately wanting to hide his face from her prying eyes.

The sudden noise of a paper being ripped startled him enough to look back at her. Sabina was standing up and folding the sheet she just got from her sketchbook.

“Very well, then, Monsieur Le Livre. You've caught my interest. First by concealing how you really were and now by showing just enough. I must say that for someone who is clueless and seems to need some help...” Belshaw was now looking at them from the distance, with his hands behind his back. “You managed to get exactly what you wanted.”

“...Did I?”

Sabina smiled at how surprised he sounded. _Was that fondness?_

“For sure.” she nodded as she walked around the table with the sketchbook under her arm and the piece of paper in her hand: her fingers were dirty with charcoal. She offered it to him and when he took it, she didn't let it go.

“Next week, Tuesday. Ten in the morning. _Sharp_.” she said. Sébastien rushed to nod. “That's an order, Caporal.” Sabina teased and tugged onto the piece of paper, again showing those slightly crooked teeth that he found oddly beautiful.

Oh, she was truly going to use that. The hand that was holding the folded drawing was trembling enough to make it evident to her. Sébastien jerked his head after a second of hearing nothing but a whistling noise: “Yes, Mademoiselle.”

“Good.” she hummed as she finally released the paper. “I'll see you then.” she turned and tilted her head towards the older man, who was walking back to his good friend. “Monsieur Belshaw.”

“Mademoiselle Martel.” he bowed his head in return before she walked back towards the manor.

Sébastien thought it was rather convenient he was sitting down. As soon as she disappeared from his sight, he felt like his body had no strength anymore.

“Oh, God.” he breathed; his heart was right on his throat.

“Sébastien!” Belshaw laughed, slapping his shoulders. “Oh, you cheeky bastard, you've made it! A proper date! With a Martel girl, no other!” Of a second rank, but... _Still_. “How does it feel?”

“I... don't know.” It didn't even feel real. He doubted he even did anything to get her attention, only answer her questions and little else. Whatever that pushed her to want to know him a little further was up to her. She made the decision.

After failing at slowing his anxious heart, Sébastien looked down at the paper that was still tightly held in his right hand. He unfolded it and the first thing he noticed was that it was not a portrait, more like a satirical cartoon.

Sabina took the time to quickly sketch a tiny battalion of seven tin soldiers. All of them had the very same uniform and had different kinds of facial hair: sideburns, moustaches and beards. But there was one who was clean shaven and with a nervous smile on his lips. Right in the middle of the line, he stood holding tightly onto his musket with a uniform that was clearly too small for him; the seams of the shoulders about to burst and the sleeves short enough to show his wrists. Sébastien could recognize his nose and eyebrows in that strange little soldier. He failed to feel offended, in fact, it made him both nervous and excited the fact that he was the only one who had shading. The other six tin soldiers were flat, boring and far from being her focus of interest. He was.

Her handwriting was beautiful. Over the seven figures, she wrote: _Find the odd one out!_

Sabina had a sense of humour. A little acid, of course, but one that matched Sébastien's. She teased him right back after he tried to trick her and he couldn't help but think that was fair.

The fact that she signed it — _S. Martel_ — almost made him feel like he now owned a little treasure.

It was Belshaw's laugher that pulled him out of his dream. He squeezed his shoulders and leaned more against him to take a proper look at the drawing.

“We found Pascal's replacement!” he teased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Siegbert Tarrasch (5 March 1862 – 17 February 1934) was one of the strongest chess players and most influential chess teachers of the late 19th and early 20th century. A medical doctor by profession, Tarrasch may have been the best player in the world in the early 1890s. He won four major tournaments in succession: Breslau 1889, Manchester 1890, Dresden 1892, and Leipzig 1894. Source: Wikipedia
> 
> 2 Lasker challenged Siegbert Tarrasch, who had won three consecutive strong international tournaments to a match. Tarrasch haughtily declined, stating that Lasker should first prove his mettle by attempting to win one or two major international events. Source: Wikipedia
> 
> 3 Emanuel Lasker (December 24, 1868 – January 11, 1941) was a German chess player, mathematician, and philosopher who was World Chess Champion for 27 years, from 1894 to 1921, the longest reign of any officially recognised World Chess Champion in history. His contemporaries used to say that Lasker used a "psychological" approach to the game, and even that he sometimes deliberately played inferior moves to confuse opponents. Source: Wikipedia
> 
> 4 The Spanish–American War was an armed conflict between Spain and the United States in 1898. Hostilities began in the aftermath of the internal explosion of USS Maine in Havana Harbor in Cuba, leading to U.S. intervention in the Cuban War of Independence. The war led to the U.S. emerging as predominant in the Caribbean region, and resulted in U.S. acquisition of Spain's Pacific possessions. Source: Wikipedia
> 
> 5 Letters patent (always in the plural) are a type of legal instrument in the form of a published written order issued by a monarch, president, or other head of state, generally granting an office, right, monopoly, title, or status to a person or corporation. Source: Wikipedia
> 
> 6 Former name of the Republic of Venice (Italian: Serenissima Repubblica di Venezia; Venetian: Serenìsima Repùblega Vèneta), 697–1797.
> 
> 7 The specific word chaperon began to be used in the eighteenth century to denote a particular social institution, namely, a woman who would accompany a young unmarried woman in public, and especially where she might be expected to meet a man. In circumstances where, for whatever reason, the mother was unavailable to perform this function, another woman, usually well known to the family, was chosen. A chaperon was usually expected to be a married woman. Source: Wikipedia
> 
> 8 In May 1797, Napoleon conquered Venice. During the following years France and Austria fought for dominion over the city. Napoleon regained power over Venice from the Austrians in 1805 by the Treaty of Pressburg and it became part of the Kingdom of Italy. A year later, Napoleon placed his brother Joseph Bonaparte as head of Venice. Source: Introducingvenice.com
> 
> 9 Translation found [here](https://diotima-doctafemina.org/translations/anthologies/womens-life-in-greece-and-rome-selections/vii-private-life/233-the-rape-of-the-sabine-women/).


	2. DEUX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I only wanted to share a secret with you, but if you think that's too m—”
> 
> “No, no! No.” he swallowed properly this time —turns out he could, still, remember how to do so— and turned his head to look at her. He brushed his shirt and vaguely noticed that his heart was still focusing on the idea her incisors digging tightly on the flesh of the base of his neck and shoulders. “You can tell me, if you want.”
> 
> “Relax.” she advised him. “I wouldn't want you to feel uncomfortable around me.”
> 
> “I'm not.” he insisted, quite desperate to let her know that it was not that. He was overwhelmed, not uncomfortable. He felt like their relationship changed drastically after that morning and he was still surprised it was working. 
> 
> Maybe something terrible was around the corner and he was being prepared for decades of misery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a chunky chapter!! I apologize about the typos, but it's impossible for me to spot them all!
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy it. Feel free to let me know what you think!  
> Happy New Year (a little early, but we'll see when I post chapter 3...)!!

That morning Sébastien was arranging a composing stick with one hand while he ate some stale and bland bread with the other. He barely raised his eyes when he heard Belshaw rushing inside of the room.

“You are late.” he announced.

“Takes you no time to come to work from upstairs.” Belshaw hummed, wonderfully chipper.

 _That_ made Sébastien look at him. He had a strange glow around him.

“What's that?” he asked.

“What's what?” he replied, standing by his side and casually pushing Sébastien's hand away so he could enjoy his humble breakfast fully.

“You look... _radiant_.” Sébastien snorted.

“I've met a woman.” he sighed.

The confession was enough to make Sébastien feel conflicted. He met a woman and that was hardly anything new. Belshaw was good at speaking to them. He was a natural charmer: promises and poems came naturally from his mouth even if he didn't mean any of them. So it wasn't the fact that he met a new woman to trick that impressed him, but more the fact he seemed to be so delighted about it. The last time he got so visibly thrilled about a woman was...

“I already have Sabina.” Sébastien couldn't help but reminding him. He was still anxiously expecting to see her again. Only a couple of days more and they would have a meeting. _A date_. One she suggested and therefore, must still want. He felt a pinch on his stomach: trepidation building.

“She's not for you, you horndog.” Belshaw laughed as he shook his head. Sometimes his good friend could be deliciously naïve. Didn't he learn anything from their friendship? Not everything he did was to benefit others. In fact, Belshaw would _easily_ describe himself as an incredibly selfish man. The only difference between Sébastien and the rest of the world was that Belshaw _cared_ about him. With anyone else? Just pretense. “And you don't _have_ her.” he reminded him.

“I might not have her,” Sébastien mumbled. _But she sure has me_. “but I want to.”

“As much as I'd love to know how much you think about her late at night...” Sébastien groaned before he took another bite. “I think it's fair to speak about _me_.”

“I wouldn't want you to feel like you are not important.” The sarcasm was very much there.

“She's truly remarkable, Sébastien.” he sighed, going through the type cases.

“Is she married?”

From what he could remember, his friend has been with any kind of woman a man could think of: single, married, widowed. It didn't matter, but it was clear that his friend found a different kind of pleasure in all those who were _forbidden_. That would explain the young nun that fell under his spell about five years ago.

“Of course she is married.” Belshaw replied like it was almost offensive to think otherwise. “But she is truly something else, Sébastien. I have never met a woman like her.”

What could that possibly mean?

Sébastien decided to venture himself:

“...Is she rich?”

“She is!” he even had to stop to face Sébastien. “Outrageously so.”

Sébastien swallowed and brushed the crumbs of bread off the table. He failed to feel envious.

“Do I know her?”

“Personally? I doubt it, my dear friend. She has a very refined _taste_.” Belshaw chuckled when the younger man grumbled. “Maybe you heard about her. Her name is Roselyn Mainard, but everybody calls her _Madame de Chambery_.”

“That sounds quite like...”

“She isn't.” he waved his hand. “She's married and hails from Chambery.”

“What is she doing in Paris, then?”

“Entertain herself. Her husband travels an awful lot, you know?”

“And you kindly offer her some company.”

“I sure did, last night.” Belshaw puffed his chest. “... _Twice_.” he grinned cheekily. Sébastien rolled his eyes and smiled as he ignored the following remark that hinted that he wished he would be as lucky with the Martel girl.

“What's so fascinating about her?” Sébastien asked, feeling like he would be able to tell him if he asked about Sabina. He would say something like: _her temper, her teeth, her narrow shoulders and how she wears borrowed clothes with unique grace_.

But of course, there was so much left to learn about the young woman. That only made her far more interesting.

“Her book collection.”

“ _Oh_?”

“All of them first editions, Sébastien. _Original_.” he visibly grew excited with the thought of the woman's library. “And there is where you get involved.”

See? At the end of the day, he was telling him about the woman because he wanted him to either meet her or do something that would, eventually, lead to her.

“Absolutely not.” In any other situation, he wouldn't mind. But now that he was attempting to court a woman in order to obtain the interest he was starting to desperately want from her? He was not going to risk it.

“Oh, come on!” he huffed. “We are never going to get nowhere with this!” he gestured around the room, the few forged documents they made during the last couple of days. “Aren't you tired of being poor? Don't you want to give your wife and children a decent life? We must do this, Sébastien! Imagine the money we can make out of a first edition of a book!”

“I am not going to do it.” he stubbornly shook his head.

“You are scared Sabina might find out?”

“Of course!” he huffed, dropping the crust of bread. “What is she going to think if she sees me with another woman?”

“You wouldn't be with her like that! I'm only asking you to sneak inside of her house while I distract her!” he rushed to explain. “ _And_ , in fact, I'm counting on Sabina, too! She would know why you are there.”

“What?” Sébastien frowned. “What do you even want her to do?”

“The illustrations, of course.” Belshaw ignored the angry look in his friend's face. “Madame has a _gorgeous_ first edition of the _Les Liaisons Dangereuses_. It's not so old, considering it was published only a couple of decades ago, b—”

“No!” he interrupted him. “Absolutely not. _No_. What are you even thinking about?”

“Why not?” he asked. “She's good at it and Pascal c—”

“Because forgery is a crime, maybe?” Sébastien snapped at him. Not because he accepted the possible consequences of his acts if he ever got caught that meant he would welcome her into his world.

“And your job.” Belshaw reminded him.

“She doesn't know that.” he mumbled.

“ _Yet_.”

And for some reason, that angered Sébastien. Perhaps because he was right. Perhaps because he knew that what he did for a living would have to become a secret if he wanted to ever find a woman that would want to marry him. Either lying or living earnestly.

“Now you want me to tell her?” he frowned. “When you forced me to dress up as a soldier and make a fool out of myself? My relationship with her won't change to fit your interests.” he warned him.

Whatever that he was going to have with Sabina —no matter if it actually continued after their date or not— would be based on what both of them wanted, not on what Belshaw thought that was convenient. He loved his friend to death, but even he could tell that sometimes Belshaw wanted to pull more strings than his fingers could possibly reach.

“Come on, be reasonable.” he sighed, cupped Sébastien's face. “We need more ambition and you are going to need more money!”

“I am not going to risk what I miraculously got.”

And that was his _final_ word on that matter.

*** * ***

Tuesday finally came.

Belshaw avoided the topic of bringing Sabina into their business since Sébastien rejected the idea. Thankfully, he got his message loud and clear and he understood that he wanted to keep his occupation and his —if he was any lucky— private life separate for a little while.

This time they were allowed inside of the manor, but without making it any further than the hall. The stairs that took them to the second floor were wide and the carpet that covered them looked a little worn out by the so many people that apparently lived there. Sébastien only met five of them, but according to Belshaw there were eleven without even counting the clockmaker.

 _It must get pretty hectic in the morning_ , Sébastien couldn't help but think.

He brushed his coat —yes, he was wearing his finest clothes for this meeting... It could easily become the last— and pulled onto the sleeves of his brown jacket. Those covered his wrists and he almost wanted to fist his hands and hide them under the fabric, in a childish gesture that would clearly show that he was nervous.

“Stop fidgeting.” Belshaw reminded him with a soft voice, barely turning his head to the side.

“I'm not.” Sébastien attempted to lie.

Steps were coming closer. Belshaw slapped him on the side and Sébastien almost looked like he was pretending to be a soldier again because he surely stood like one in that moment. Belshaw snickered and he ignored him.

Santina and Simonetta came from the following room and seemed to be quite surprised when they saw both men there.

“Morning.” Belshaw greeted them with a charming smile.

“My sister didn't expect you so early, Monsieur Le Livre.” Simonetta said as her green eyes found one of the _many_ clocks that could be spotted around the house.

 _God, it's a miracle they didn't go insane in that house_.

“She asked me be punctual.” he explained.

“It's something our sister usually does: demand plenty from others.” Santina tilted her pointy chin up with a sardonic smile on her lips.

“Is she always like that?” Belshaw asked.

“She can't help it. She got it from our mother.” Simonetta nodded.

“She's significantly worse than our mother because she _isn't_ our mother.” Santina corrected her.

The determination of the woman without being in the position to ask so much from others as the head of the family. _Got it_.

“Was speaking with your mother like being slapped across the face?” Belshaw instinctively got in his flirty mood.

The sisters smiled at the joke and Sébastien frowned at him. He doubted these girls had a remarkable library. He subtly kicked him on the ankle.

“Simonetta!” gasped a voice that was rushing downstairs. Sébastien defleated a bit when he saw it was the youngest sister who signficantly slowed down as she saw the two men standing by the door. She parted her lips, finally stopping in the middle of the stairs.

“Yes?” Simonetta asked, extending a hand in her sister direction.

Sancia pressed her lips. Sébastien could see the beauty mark over her left eyebrow briefly before she looked down and joined her two sisters, speaking quietly to the eldest of the two.

“Again?” Santina snorted as Sancia shrugged a little bit. “You might want to wait outside.” she said before attempting to usher them out of the house.

Sadly, Sancia warned them a bit too late.

It was like _horses_ were descending down the stairs, this time.

“Give it back!” screamed a voice that Sébastien never heard before.

“I didn't take anything from you!” _That_ was Sabina.

The steps were coming closer and the two figures finally made it to the top of the stairs that lead to the second floor. There must be a third, at least. Sébastien instinctively took a step forward, fearing that Sabina could fall and hurt herself, considering she was being chased by a younger and brunette girl.

“You didn't take it, you used it!” the younger girl accused her as Sabina trotted down the stairs with startling speed.

But that was right before the young woman finally saw Sébastien there. Her hazel eyes didn't seem to either notice Belshaw or her three sisters at the bottom of the stairs. When she stopped, the girl that was coming right behind her got her. She grabbed one of her wrists in a way that made Sébastien frown and feel tempted enough to speak up.

“You used my perfume!” she squeezed Sabina's wrist and not even that could make her look back at her.

Sabina was still looking at Sébastien and he thought that, for a second, she seemed insecure. The differences between both girls were very evident. Sébastien didn't have to be remarkably clever to figure out that while one was a _niece_ —a guest and therefore a burden—, the other was a _daughter_ —a treasure and therefore a gift—. It showed in the way they dressed —one following the latest trend and the other still wearing borrowed clothes—, in the way they styled their hair —Sébastien could easily picture the Martel sisters brushing each others' hair and for some reason, he found that scene way more substantial than a young girl barking orders at a maid— and it surely showed in their shoes —Sabina moved one foot back so it would hide under the skirt of her dress—.

“Maude. We have guests.” Simonetta warned her cousin. It was clear by the way she spoke, that she truly didn't expect her to either apologize or show any remorse.

“So what?!” Maude hissed at the younger sister. “She used my perfume without my permission!”

Sébastien parted his lips and Sabina finally blinked. She cleared her throat, looked down and regained her bearings. She snatched her wrist away from Maude and said:

“I didn't use your perfume. You use so much it _stinks_ in this house.”

She didn't avoid confrontation with her uncle, surely she wouldn't do so with her cousin. Then she rolled her narrow shoulders and stepped down.

The face Maude made brought Sébastien back in time. He saw that scowl of envy and hatred in many children of the orphanage before they jumped on him either to steal the jacket or some food he was given. Maude grabbed the bunch of fabric, folded and held with needles in her back, and pulled rough enough to make them all fall. Sabina had to hold onto the railing not to land on her ass. Her hands instantly moved to her shoulders to hold the fabric and keep it from revealing what she was wearing underneath.

“ _Buèla_ [1]!” Sabina hissed.

The attitude of the young girl was hardly anything surprising for the four sisters but Sébastien was startled. He even got one of his foot on the bottom step before Simonetta and Santina rushed towards their sister and got to her before he could practically even think of a solution to the sudden problem.

“Stealing is all you do!” Maude accused the older girl while Sabina glared at her, digging her nails on her own flesh to keep herself from tackling her to the ground. _Spoiled brat_. “Look at what you are wearing!”

“Your sister Ivette allowed us to keep some of her dresses when she got married.” Santina defended her sister while she picked all the needles from the stairs along with Simonetta.

“You knew our sister had a date today, Maude.” while Simonetta seemed to be significantly less confrontational than the other two, her voice didn't sound like it held all that much affection towards their cousin. “Why would you shame her like this in front of him?” she shook her head, disappointed but resigned.

It showed that the young girl could do whatever she wanted under that roof. _Perhaps not only Martel's daughter but also the youngest_ , Sébastien couldn't help but think.

Maude's eyes finally landed on him and she seemed to be _repulsed_ by what greeted her. Sébastien didn't look down or away. He grew used to that kind of looks. Maude snorted and raised her hands, like her act was perfectly justified after checking the kind of man he seemed to be.

“He surely wasn't expecting a princess, by the looks of him.” she commented. Sébastien heard Belshaw huffing and turning around, stopping himself from saying something he could regret. “Next time I catch you stealing, I'll tell Papa.” she looked down at Sabina. “This goes for all of you.” she gestured with her hand at the other three sisters before she headed upstairs.

Sébastien felt like he didn't need to know Venetian to figure out that what Sabina said next was something about how desperately wished she could land her hands on her cousin or teach her a lesson. Simonetta shook her head and grabbed her arm. _None of that_.

“We'll be right back, Monsieur Le Livre.” Simonetta said. “Excuse us.”

And then Sabina entered the following —the one where they met for the first time— with her sisters to fix her borrowed dress.

Sébastien felt a little lost after everything that happened and how he was unable to barely react other than doing a very poor attempt to get to Sabina to help her with her dress. Maybe he should have said something? He knew nothing about dresses or how to style them, he would have only managed to ruin the shape of her gown.

Perhaps he should learn. After all, plenty of husbands help their wives getting dressed in the morning. They would never be able to afford help —he lacked both money and ambition, according to Belshaw—, so he could do it. Not that there was any guarantee that Sabina would eventually think he was a decent suitor, but...

“Monsieur?”

Sébastien blinked and turned to look at Sancia, who played with her hands and breathed evenly but deeply. She was forcing herself to talk to him.

“Yes, Mademoiselle?” he replied.

“I'd like... to speak to you. Before you leave with my sister. If possible.”

“I'll wait outside.” Belshaw suddenly said. The girl was remarkably shy, probably still struggling with the reluctance to interact with others that came with teenage years.

Sancia waited until the door closed to start talking:

“Our situation in this house is not easy. I'm sure you figured it out after what you witnessed.” Sébastien made a soft noise to let her know that he agreed with her. “We are desperate to leave, but sadly, we can't do so on under our own terms. We have nothing and nowhere to go.” Sancia licked her lips and shifted. “Our older sisters Silvia and Sofia are already married.” Belshaw told him about that detail, Sébastien still nodded. “I barely know their husbands.” she confessed, like that brought her a great amount of distress. “I don't know if they are good men or not. All I know is that they married because it was the only way to leave this house. They had no other option, our uncle is not making things any easier for us...”

“I'm sorry to hear that.” Sébastien muttered, feeling like it would offer little or no comfort at all.

Sancia shrugged weakly. He recalled that Belshaw told him that the girls moved from Venice about ten years ago. The youngest must have felt the impact of such change and the loss of their mother the most. There was nothing but resignation left in her eyes.

“My point is...” she brushed the lock of hair that framed the left side of her forehead revealing the beauty mark over her eyebrow again. “I don't want to lose my sisters. They are _my_ family.” the only ones she had left. “Men often think of their wives as _only_ their wives. Like they are no longer anyone's daughter or sister. It would hurt me to see how I'm slowly yet steadily losing them all.” And then Sancia forced herself to look up at him. “I don't want to lose Sabina too. Don't take her away from us.”

Sébastien parted his lips and needed a couple of seconds to shake his head.

“No. No, of course not. I would never.”

“Well, don't.” Sancia insisted a second time.

“Your sister and I... I'm...” he cleared his throat. “I'm honored she is letting me know her, truly. But I don't think... From what I've seen so far...” he was babbling again. Sébastien stopped for a second and nodded at himself: _speak clearly_. “I don't think I could convince her to do anything she wouldn't want to do. She has a very strong personality.”

“She does.” Sancia huffed like that brought them trouble in the past.

“And I can't tell for sure she'll stay interested in me by the time she makes it home.” he smiled weakly.

The young girl blinked and tilted her head. “My sister has rejected three suitors so far.” That did not make their date any less intimidating to Sébastien. “For a couple of months we thought the doctor would eventually win her over but...” she shook her head. “My sister is not concerned with manners.” He couldn't help but snort at that, slightly amused. “If she didn't want you around, you wouldn't be here. We believe she finds you...” Sancia licked her lips, giving herself time to think about the right word. Sébastien felt his pulse rising. “compatible? I think.”

“ _Compatible_?” Sébastien couldn't help but repeating.

“...Yes.” Maybe not even she necessarily understood the implication of that word.

“Right.”

“It's a good thing, I believe.”

The clocks kept ticking, making the situation unusually uncomfortable for the both of them.

Sébastien forced himself to smile. Compatible had to be better than nothing. He would have loved to hear that she thought him _intelligent_ , _captivating_ , _hilarious_ or... Yes, he'll be vain. _Handsome_. But maybe... Maybe compatible was the best he could obtain from her. He barely found the courage to speak to her properly and the first time they met, he was dressed up like a fool. Maybe, given their initial situation, compatible was the best he could get. After all, it meant that they matched. That he had something she was been looking in a man and that didn't find in others.

 _And that happened three times_ , Sébastien thought, _she didn't want to marry a doctor. There must be a reason for that_.

The door opened again and while Sabina was no longer cursing in her mother tongue, she surely didn't look all that willing to talk, let alone smile. She headed out of the house without exchanging a word with him and Sébastien rushed to follow her after silently saying goodbye to the other three sisters. He stood a couple of steps behind her, his eager eyes moving all over her frame, seeing the needles that were put back in place to make the dress to flatter her body. Sabina stopped suddenly and put her hands on her hips, taking a deep breath. Sébastien didn't even notice how Belshaw threw the cigarette away and held his hands behind his back as soon as she showed up.

The silence was nerve-racking.

Sabina must be a proud woman. Her temper was strong and she was, as she was often described by family and even a stranger like Belshaw as demanding. The kind of woman who would want to be and feel in control at all times. Handle the situations in the way she would see fit. And that was what Sébastien liked about her. She had been shamed by her cousin in front of the man she was getting to know and she couldn't do anything about it.

But Sébastien wanted to let her know that, as someone who was shamed most of his life, he saw no disgrace in what happened. She was at the mercy of others and he understood how that felt. The little accident didn't change anything. He still saw her under the same light and his heart, now racing, revealed that he only liked her more and more with time.

“Mademoiselle?” he finally tried to get her attention.

Sabina shifted and Sébastien took another step forward, now practically looming over her shoulder. His fingers itched and he wanted to touch her shoulder, squeeze it, and promise her that she would make it out of that house. That he would find the way to live with dignity without the need to live out of others' charity.

Maybe this would give him the ambition he _lacked_.

The young woman finally sighed and muttered:

“Caporal.”

A smile quickly adorned Sébastien's lips. One she got to see when she turned back and briefly mirrored. The intimacy of the nickname brought him joy and a pleasing warmth over his cheeks and throat.

“Still in the mood to deal with me?” Sébastien attempted to joke.

“Desperate to leave this place. I'd deal with the Devil Himself, in moments like this.”

“Then you'll find me an agreeable company.”

Sabina chuckled and his heart jumped.

“You know what?” Rebelry sparked in her eyes and Sébastien was willing to hear any plan she came up with. “I'll be right back.” she announced before she slid inside of the manor.

Belshaw looked at Sébastien and arched an eyebrow. He shrugged, still smiling like a fool.

Sabina barely needed a couple of minutes. When she returned, she did so with a deep indigo mantelet. The details of the embrodery and the fringe were golden and Sébastien had the feeling that was probably stolen from the young cousin. If Sabina was going to be called a thief, then she might as well give them reasons to do so.

“We are going out, Monsieur Le Livre.” she informed him, tying the new garment over her chest. She didn't cover her hair and the delicate ribbons that held the dark curls in place and Sébastien had the feeling it was not a statement[2], more the fact that she couldn't steal any hat in such little time. “My only wish is to be away from this family for the following hours.” she patted his shoulder as she walked past him. Sébastien shivered at the casual touch. “We'll take the coach.”

If her cousins, uncle or aunt wanted to go somewhere, they would have to walk very much like herself and her sisters did every time they desired to leave the oppulent prison behind.

*** * ***

Sabina wanted to go to the Jardin du Luxembourg and Sébastien easily agreed with her. He was well aware that the gardens saw better days, but he heard that Chalgrin[3] was hired to restore it. In hopes of seeing something new or any kind of progress, Sabina first suggested going to the Palace. When they only saw workers with awful manners carrying rubble from the former grand central staircase, they both decided that there was nothing worth seeing in that location.

They kept strolling, heading towards the Medici Fountain. Belshaw allowed them to have some intimacy, keeping the distance and thinking about the dozens of things he could be doing in that very more that would be far more fruitful than being a poorly representation of a chaperone. Still, his friend could need his help. He had to be there to pull him out of any mess he could find himself into. And Sabina was talented enough to replace Pascal, so... His reason for being there was not entirely selfish but not absolutely selfless, either.

Sébastien looked at Sabina and noticed the few looks she was getting for not wearing a hat. She seemed to be unbothered by it. Perhaps she learned the hard way that beggars couldn't be choosers and that her oldest cousin perhaps didn't leave a dress for any kind of occasion that the four sisters could eventually find themselves in. Better to walk around with poorly styled and inadequate clothes than bare.

“Your sister spoke to me while you were taking care of your dress.” Sébastien decided to show his conversational skills. He was slightly less nervous now and he had to show her he could have a chat and not only answer questions. “She said it's been a long time since you've seen your older sisters.”

“Ever since they got married.” she sighed and nodded. “Our uncle was pushing them to do it and as you've seen, staying there is not much better.” She sounded like she held plenty of resentment towards her uncle's family. Sébastien was sure they went through way worse than what he saw ealier. “It's all about money, Monsieur Le Livre. It truly is.”

“Is it?” Sébastien asked, knowing that Belshaw would probably listen to their conversation after saying the magic word.

“My whole life has been all about money.” she explained as they idly walked. “When I was little, I had to see how my father would spend all the money he had on his mistresses. Of course, those who eventually got pregnant reminded him too much of my mother, perhaps, and stopped seeing them altogether. I firmly believe my father was repelled by children. Why he had so many can only be explained by the fact that he was probably an hedonist.” she shook her head, disapprovingly. “When he died, I was... twelve.” She wouldn't doubt about the age she was when her mother died. “And a part of me thought: _Finally! Now our lives will be much easier!_ ” Sabina smiled and denied. “I was miserably wrong.”

“Your mother had no one she could turn to?”

“My mother's siblings were all dead by the time she got married. Her father was still alive but I never got to meet him.” she briefly explained. “When my father died, she had to beg for money and for anyone to give her a chance. She desperately wanted us to have a good life and yet, she never felt like she could.”

“I bet she knew the six of you loved and respected her just as much...” Sébastien tried carefully.

“I'm sure, but it's not easy to see someone go like that.” Sabina mumbled. “I can't possibly imagine how it must feel for a mother to realise that she has no more time in this world and that she is leaving her kids behind, knowing that they still need and depend on her.”

Sébastien licked his lips, not wanting her words to take him back to all those questions he had no answers for. He didn't know who his parents were, but did his mother ever feel like that? Did his mother ever got to see his face at all?

Sabina peered back at him finally and bit her lower lip, noticing the conflicted look on his face.

“But we think about her daily.” she rushed to add, making the conversation a little lighter. “She's still with us, in a way. Not because someone is dead, that means they leave you forever. Plenty of them stays with you: their memories, their teachings, their... laughter and their strength. Love can't possibly die as long as one of the parts stays alive.”

Sébastien felt comforted by her words. Like that was an advice that would heal him whenever he would need it the most.

“That's beautiful.” he said.

Sabina chuckled again and he was delighted to hear her laughter. He was desperate to keep her entertained during the whole morning.

“Thank you.” she bowed her head. “My point is... Even now, that I am twenty-five, I have the very same problem as a I did when I was five. I still depend on a man to be able to have money.”

Sébastien felt like they would eventually end up talking about his line of work and he looked down, with the tips of his ears burning red.

“I'm not sure if I can aff—”

“I'm not going to ask you money. I'm never going to ask anything from you, Monsieur Le Livre. My pride wouldn't let me but... You have to understand my position. Silvia and Sofia were forced to marry because they had no other option. I won't let the same happen to my younger sisters. Not if I can avoid it.”

“What's your plan?” he asked without raising his head.

“I don't have a plan, only a wish: I want to be able to pay their dowry so they will have a say on the matter. So they can... climb up the ladder.” she whispered. “Silvia and Sofia's lives are far from easy. Poverty can bring so much harm. Can make a woman fall ill during her pregnancy. Kill her or the child. I don't want them to go through that. Not if I can avoid it.”

 _This is coming to an end_.

“We are not any less than my cousins. It's not fair that they have a chance we were never offered. I want men to value my sisters, as they _should_ be. They are not defective toys that no one else wants. They are women with integrity and worth. I'm the eldest of the four, they are my responsibility.”

With burning shame and his head now engulfed by his shoulders, Sébastien confessed:

“I can't possibly pay that much.”

If that was her main requirement to continue with their courting, then their story ended in that same moment.

“I know...” Sabina whispered. Sébastien cleared his throat and she got closer to him, almost touching his arm with her own. “But, _again_ , I'm not asking you to. They are my sisters, not yours. I only need to figure out a way...” she tested the waters before she claimed: “A man who keeps his wife from having access to money doesn't want a wife but a servant.”

Sébastien stopped and finally looked at her. Sabina sighed and closed her eyes before she stopped herself. It felt a bit like that was the sentence that made those past suitors incompatible. Would he be certain?

“I don't want a servant.” Sébastien insisted. “I told you the first time we met: What I want is to marry a woman I love and respect. I don't want her to be submitted to me or my desires. I don't want her to have my children while I ignore my role as a husband and as a father. I don't want to marry only for my wife to become my enemy. I...” he paused for a second. “I've been wishing for a family ever since I understood my place in life. If you want to help your sisters, I can only admire that. ”

“Sébastien...”

And his name emerged from her lips as the sweetest word ever spoken. Her tongue touched the roof of her mouth, her lower teeth and then the back of those incisors he found stupidly beautiful. His ears whistled at the sudden intimacy.

_That was how it was supposed to feel?_

Sébastien enjoyed romance; it was one of his favourite genres and he recognized it without an ounce of shame. To know two people while falling in love was so delicate and so awfully private, that he relished on the idea of being able to spy on them and allow himself to feel through their story. If his life had been a tale, would the reader have left the same thrill as he did? The tingling feeling on his fingers and his loud heartbeat pressing right against throat?

Her hazel eyes, now looking at him with respect and even perhaps the smallest smidge of affection, her soft and full lips curled into a pleased and sympathetic smile, her narrow shoulders snugly wrapped on the stolen mantelet.

_Could he ever forget that moment?_

“I just remembered!” Belshaw's voice startled the both of them. The older man approached the couple and smiled, very wide and pretending to be apologetic. “I'm so sorry, but I must leave. I can't stay.” Sébastien looked at him, panicking in silence. Belshaw squeezed his arm. “It wouldn't be insulting if I left you alone, would it?”

Belshaw expected a cutting reply from the woman that never came. She only denied.

“...Good.” he forced himself to speak, a little surprised. “Okay!” he chuckled and turned to look at Sébastien a second time. “I'll see you later, alright?” The younger man was unable to answer, overwhelmed by everything that just happened. “Wonderful.” Belshaw patted his cheek before he abandoned him.

The following seconds were incredibly awkward, as the only sound that could be heard were the other people walking around the gardens.

_Now what?_

Sébastien was going to force himself to speak —only managing to make a strange and startled noise— when she asked:

“Should we sit down?”

“Yes!”

They could eventually find a wooden bench close to the Medici Fountain. Sabina sat down first, brushing the skirt of her dress and rolling her shoulders. Sébastien stood there, gawking at her, until she touched the spot by her side:

“Join me?”

Sébastien quickly obeyed.

Sabina sighed and looked down, playing with her fingers, before her eyes eventually landed on her companion. She suddenly tilted her head and raised her eyebrows.

“You are growing a beard.” she pointed out before he touched his jaw. After a little more than a week since their first meeting, the stubble was back on his face. “You look good.”

Sébastien swallowed after being complimented and even felt his smile trembling.

“Thank you.” he nodded.

“Did you shave only to pretend to be a soldier?” she grinned with a touch of malice in her voice. When Sébastien blushed after being discovered, she laughed a little more. “Oh, God...”

“We thought...”

“ _He_ thought, I bet.” Sabina wasted no time to blame it on Belshaw.

“Well... Maybe.” he finally admitted. If he shows no character, then that might go against him. Still, when he quickly looked at her, he noticed that Sabina was still smiling. “Belshaw told me that soldiers make perfect husbands. They are barely around.”

“Has he ever been married?”

“No.”

“Does he want to?”

“I doubt it.” he huffed.

“Then?” she asked, casually showing how silly it was to follow his advice.

“He's... _good_ at talking to women.” And again, it was not like Sébastien was helpless. He spoke to women and some of them even found him interesting enough for a few months, but... He is not going to reject help when he might need it. His future was at risk!

“Talking or _tricking_ them?”

Sébastien was not stupid enough to say that there was no difference between those two verbs. He only pressed his lips and shrugged.

“Speak for yourself, Caporal. Own your words and actions.” she hummed. “If I don't like what I hear or see, I'll let you know.” she said before she leaned back. As soon as her back touched the wood of the bench, she bounced and complained: “Ow, ow, ow!”

“What?” Sébastien asked a little startled. He turned around and he almost expected to see a squirrel running away after biting Sabina. “What is it?”

Sabina was wincing and twisting her right arm, trying to touch her back. “A needle is poking me.”

Sébastien blinked and looked at her back, still covered by the mantelet. He recalled the amount of needles he saw on her dress before Sabina decided to go to the gardens. She was lucky only one pierced its way past the stays and the chemise.

Sabina's face was still contorting with pain, as the pointy end was either digging in her flesh or scratching it with each move she made.

He looked at her, not knowing what to do for a second, before he offered: “Do you want me to get it?”

“Yes!” she huffed as she was doing more harm than good at that point.

“Okay, if you let me...”

She wouldn't stop trying to get it all by herself.

“It hurts!” she grumbled. Not very patient and not used to being offered help.

“I can imagine.” Sébastien said with a calm voice, not wanting to irritate her any further. “Can I?”

“Do whatever you need to do.” she finally huffed, forcing herself to give up before she turned to the side, giving him her back.

Sébastien wiped his hands on his thighs and nodded at himself. He didn't have to be nervous. He didn't have to show that the chance of landing his hands on her —only to help!— made him tremble. He asked for her permission once again, low and keeping his voice under control, before he brushed the fringe of the stolen mantelet and lifted the garment up towards her shoulders, revealing her back and all those needles.

That couldn't be comfortable. He wished to see her wearing a dress that would fit her properly. Designed and tailored to fit her body.

“Would you hold this?” he was unable to command her like she did with him. Absolutely and completely unable and that fact alone made him feel overwhelmed. Their fingers touched when Sabina grabbed the fabric and he wanted to hold her hands. Kiss her fingers. Brush her wrist and feel her pulse.

But of course, he didn't. What would she think of him? That he was clingy and desperate for affection? _Perhaps_. He grew up surrounded by other kids who were as miserable as he was and the ones who were supposed to take care of him barely ever offered them any kind of tenderness. In fact, Sébastien doubted he was ever given respect considering how he still treasured the very first compliment Belshaw gave him only for being tall.

He wanted validation from others. He wanted the reassurance to feel like he was part of something. Like he was loved and appreaciated by those around him. From that very basic need bloomed his wish to start a family. And she... He liked her. She had the nerve he desperately wanted in a partner. She was witty and sharp. Perhaps a little sour and plenty of flaws that Sébastien would discover with time but... But he was treasuring this morning like something that might never happen again. Like his time with her was about to end at any given moment. It made him anxious but at the same time so aware of everything. That's why when he lowered his hand to map her back, he took the time to touch all the needles that were holding the folds of fabric to help her wear that borrowed dress with some dignity.

He counted at least twenty. Some graced his fingertips rather painfully but his palms felt the softness of the dress. A good dress, expensive he was sure, but purchased at least five years ago. The Martel sisters didn't wear new clothes, unlike her cousin. He could tell that much but that was hardly something that could push Sébastien away. He knew how it felt to live out of charity.

But, on the other hand, he wished she would be wearing a dress that would fit her. It wasn't only what she deserved, but if he was selfish as those who thought that everything about a woman had to exist only to please a man, he would want her dress to fit her so he would feel the stays under the fabric of her dress. Perhaps even the warmth of her body and her calm breathing, expanding the layers of clothing each time she inhaled.

“It's on this side.” Sabina eventually said, shrugging her right shoulder and instantly wincing as the needle poked her again.

“Right.” Sébastien cleared his throat. Not the time for this. Neither for thinking about the comfort he would experience if the tip of his nose touched the back of her neck. The scent of her curls or the texture of her skin were a secret to him still, as they should be.

He forced his eyes to focus on where they should be looking at. It wasn't all too complicated to spot now that he had all of his senses working on that task. The needle was small but capable of doing plenty of harm. The pale fabric wasn't stained and that alone was a relief.

“Right here.” he touched it lightly and she arched her back, moving away from his touch. “Sorry. Do you t—”

“Out.”

“Mhm?”

“Take it out.” she clearly didn't trust he could put it back in place properly. It was better to get rid of it than making it become a problem for later.

“ _Ah_.”

Sébastien easily got the silver and thin needle. He patted the fake pearl that decorated the blunt end. He pictured the four sisters coming up with a solution that would make the dresses look a little nicer but wouldn't imply spending all that much money. They clearly lost a few because perhaps out of twenty, only elven belonged to the same set as the one he just got.

“Got it.” he lifted the needle. Sabina leaned back and turned her head to the side, to look at the one responsible for such discomfort. “Little bastard...” Sébastien attempted to make her smile. To amuse her in any sort of way, desperate for that approval. For that kindness that he felt like it would nourish him, body and soul.

Sabina snorted and reached out to take the needle. Their fingers touched for a second time and Sébastien lowered his hand, curling them and keeping his hand as a fist over his knee.

“It's always the little ones the ones who cause the most harm.” Sabina kept the needle over the mantelet instead of throwing it away. Clearly, they lost plenty so far and couldn't afford to discard them so easily.

*** * ***

François, the Martel's coachman, was patting one of the four horses that pulled the car by the time they made it back. When he saw them arriving, he turned and bowed his head, comfortable around the young woman. He barely needed any convincing when she asked him to take her to the gardens even if she clearly wasn't among the ones allowed to use the coach. He only asked her if she was sure since she was in the company of two men, _strangers_.

“We are going back, François.” she announced as the man opened the door of the car for her.

“Ready to face the consequences?” even he could tell that Sabina would have to deal not only with her uncle but perhaps also her aunts and her cousins.

It was clear at that point, she didn't care.

“That's what they get for calling me a thief.” she huffed, accepting his hand and getting inside of the carriage. Sébastien smiled, slightly frustrated, and stepped back wishing he got to aid her. He held his hands behind his back and forced himself to tilt his chin up. Sabina was accomodating her skirt when she looked back at him. She stopped the man before he closed the door. “Caporal?”

“Yes?” he quickly stepped forward again; desperate to stretch their time together as much as possible.

“Aren't you coming with me?” she asked. “Are you currently closer to your place than you are from my uncle's house?”

Sébastien blinked in silence. When she raised her eyebrows, he lied:

“I live closer to your uncle's house.”

“Come.” she offered her hand to him and he accepted it right away.

He squeezed it as he stepped inside of the car, that rocked slightly with his weight and the sudden movement of the unexpected invitation.

When they got on the coach earlier, the three of them, it was slightly different. Sébastien was used to walk anywhere he needed to go, no matter the distance. Cars were a luxury he couldn't afford[4], and neither did Sabina but this was an act of rebelry he benefited from. The situation at hand, unlike earlier, implied being alone. Away from prying eyes or from someone that would make sure nothing would happen —even if Belshaw was the kind to _encourage_ things to happen—; that lines wouldn't be crossed and certain words wouldn't be spoken.

François closed the door and they were _alone_. For the very first time. His spine was about to snap. The horses started pulling and he did my best not to sway forward with the motion.

Sabina observed him and smiled slightly when their eyes met. Sébastien undid the buttons of his jacket and rolled his shoulders. _Calm down_ , he scolded himself before he squeezed his eyes shut. If he could do it with Belshaw sitting down by his side —the Martel had plenty of kids and needed enough room in that car to fit as many in there as possible—, talking during the whole ride about stupid things to _lighten the mood_ , then he could do it now too.

And yet, nothing came to mind and his throat was dry. Sabina's eyes scanned his features and finally landed on his shoulders. Sébastien still had his eyes closed and for that reason he was unaware of the fact that she was figuring out that he was far more nervous than she was.

“ _Very well, then_.” she told herself in her mother language.

The next thing Sébastien heard was the sound of the mantelet falling down her arms and plopping onto the seat. That was quite a reason to open his eyes.

Sabina sighed and leaned forward, resting a hand over his knee before she said:

“Scoot over.”

He obeyed and she sat down by his side. She brushed her hair and fixed the collar of her dress around her shoulders. Sébastien swallowed and blinked, as his eyes began to itch. They were as close as they were when they sat down by the fountain. But again, it was the fact that they were alone what was making him so nervous. Sébastien felt insipired by her and tugged onto the collar of his shirt, feeling a little suffocated already by a closeness that didn't even emply their bodies touching until they did. Their arms touched and he tensed so visibly that Sabina spoke.

“Is this alright?”

Sébastien nodded, still as rigid.

“Are you sure?” her voice was now caring, way less strict than usual.

“Yes. I'm just...” He wouldn't say _intimidated_ , but he couldn't swear that was not how he felt at the moment in the slightest. Anxious, nervous. Wanting and wishing for more and yet, not knowing how to proceed. “ _aaah_...” he couldn't only mumble, feeling notoriously stupid. He shut his mouth and cursed himself mentally.

Sabina bit her lower lip and bumped her arm against his, in a friendly and carefree gesture.

“I don't bite.” she teased and Sébastien swore that for a moment he lost all of his senses. Something snapped in his brain and he could no longer hear, see, feel, taste or smell. _Nothing_.

Sébastien even surprised himself when he coughed, choking on his own spit. Wonderful, it was going very well. He got a needle from her dress earlier, why couldn't be keep it together now?!

Sabina raised her eyebrows and snickered. Of course he wanted to make her laugh. To amuse others and bring them joy was the fastest way for them to want to keep you in their lives. But if he could only do that without shaming himself, then it would be _perfect_.

“I only wanted to share a secret with you, but if you think that's too m—”

“No, no! No.” he swallowed properly this time —turns out he could, _still_ , remember how to do so— and turned his head to look at her. He brushed his shirt and vaguely noticed that his heart was still focusing on the idea her incisors digging tightly on the flesh of the base of his neck and shoulders. “You can tell me, if you want.”

“Relax.” she advised him. “I wouldn't want you to feel uncomfortable around me.”

“I'm not.” he insisted, quite desperate to let her know that it was not that. He was overwhelmed, not uncomfortable. He felt like their relationship changed drastically after that morning and he was still surprised it was working.

Maybe something terrible was around the corner and he was being prepared for decades of misery.

“Are you sure?” she checked one last time.

“Yes.” he nodded, finally looking at her. His eyebrows were furrowed and his lips tightly closed. Sabina didn't miss the fact that he was playing with his hands.

“Alright, then.”

He exhaled.

 _Calm down_.

“I've been thinking about this date for days.” Sabina explained, perfectly calm and offering him some of her peace. “I don't have much, I bet you noticed that by now.” she huffed. She explained him how her life has always been impacted by the lack of money. Status meant nothing if there was no money to back up such position. Sabina belonged to a wealthy family but was not all that different from Sébastien. She even lacked the independence he at least had. “And it's certainly complicated to keep a man interested when there's so little you can do about your own appearance.”

Sébastien denied, not thinking that would be enough to stop her. But it was.

“No?” she tilted her head.

“That's not true.” he muttered, needing to look away and scratching the back of his head. Sabina touched his chin and made him look back at her. Sébastien swallowed the low whimper that wanted to made it past his lips. “You'd be interesting to me even if you wore rags.”

That made her smile and God help him. He loved the sight. Her happiness was a gorgeous view.

“I really appreaciate that, Sébastien.” she thanked him, refraining herself from holding his hand. Poor boy, he was already trying his best to stay calm. “I still... wanted to do something special. Offer something different.”

Sabina wasn't wearing any sort of jewelry and while Sébastien couldn't possibly trust his memory, he was quite sure she was wearing a dress that was worn by one of her sisters the day he met them for the first time. Then what could it possible be?

“But my cousin caught me.” she rolled her eyes like the girl was truly a pain in the ass. “And while I didn't get away with it, I could put a couple of drops of her perfume on my wrists.” she caressed it gently with her own fingers and Sébastien looked down at the pale skin that revealed a faint greenish tint of the veins hidden underneath. “It's very expensive. Do you want to smell it?”

She offered so casually and yet it was like the fire kept in his stomach and chest rose and set his face on fire. Sébastien licked his lower lip and sucked it in as he attempted to handle the burning warmth over his cheeks and that made his temples throb. The blood in his body was rushing, like acid. It was a miracle he didn't start panting.

“ _Please_.” he breathed.

Sabina inhaled, loud enough for him to hear it and think that maybe she was affected by the tone of his voice or... Or the word itself. Sébastien shivered as she brushed the sleeve of her dress up her forearm, revealing just enough. Then she approached it to him and Sébastien looked at her for one last confirmation. When she nodded, he closed his eyes and bowed his head forward. The tip of his nose didn't get to touch her skin.

He breathed the perfume in and it made him dizzy for a second. It was not the kind he would ever think a spoiled young girl would have. It had the clear scent of gardenias[5] and a touch of citrus that, mixed with the natural smell of Sabina's skin, become a fragrance that was both soothing and arousing. He parted his lips and exhaled, a sigh that came out as a puff of warm air that made Sabina's eyelids a little heavier.

“You can touch me...” she said softly.

Sébastien felt like he reacted without giving his brain the time to process the information. The less he thought, the less nervous he would feel.

His left hand cupped the back of Sabina's and the other sneaked around her elbow, gently digging his fingers in the folds of the delicate fabric. His nose and lips finally touched her wrists and the scent was even more intoxicating. It made his throat feel tighter and for his heart to start pumping even more blood into his limbs; his knees and toes were tingling, awfully close to start shaking.

He breathed her in and a little part of her found its way inside of his being; settled there and branded him, right in the middle of his chest and from within.

Sébastien didn't find the dignity to even consider that perhaps the young woman could easily compare him to a dog, as he kept nosing her wrist, obtaining a high like no other from the perfume that didn't even belong to her. He never smelled something like that before. Not once in his life he experienced such feverish despair to need _more and more_.

Sabina shifted closer to him and wrapped her left arm around him, while still keeping her right wrist close to his face.

The feeling of his long nose and his soft lips made her feel both excited and endeared. _Darling boy_ , she couldn't help but think. He needed so much affection: he was practically starving for it. All she wanted was to feed it to him, with her own hand, until he would feel satisfied and convinced that he deserved it. So she decided to give him the first crumb by caressing his back and resting her forehead against his temple.

“Our date was _important_ to me.” she whispered before nuzzling his cheekbone with her nose. Sébastien whined and couldn't help but smile. “I want you to remember that.”

She found him amusing, a little clueless after playing dress up to meet her, but gentle and sweet. Willing to understand how important her sisters were and convinced that she deserved respect as the woman she already was and not only the wife she could become. They were compatible in the most basic way of the word, she already stated such, but maybe they were also compatible in a far more elaborate meaning too.

Sébastien felt _special_. An unknown emotion that was so powerful, so captivating that a voice deep inside his soul told him that her chest is where his heart should be. She kept him in mind, she thought about him and looked forward to meeting him. She sneaked inside of her cousin's room to offer something different while she was dependant on loans and alms.

Sébastien closed his eyes and kissed her wrist with gratitude and devotion. She captured his heart, it will be complicated to release himself from this spell. It even made him consider that death, a man's greatest concern, felt _insignificant_ if this was joy as it was supposed to be experienced.

*** * ***

The walk back home was _intense_.

His head was pounding and his lips were still tingling. The scent of gardenias was making him slightly light-headed and why that's why he stole three from the Martel's garden after he said goodbye to Sabina with the promise of seeing her in two days, on Thursday.

It was a miracle that he arrived to the little factory, sneaking in through the back door and heading upstairs. He collapsed on his bed, with the flowers still tightly held over his chest. Then he did his best to think and try to understand what happened but... nothing. His head was full with the memory of her delicate wrist, how soft and thin it was and how wonderfully it smelled.

Sébastien brought the flowers to his nose and sniffed them. Their scent was pleasing but couldn't possibly be compared to the experience he had less than an hour ago. A poor substitute but still one and decent enough to make his heart speed up and for his body to get warmer, practically pleading for a touch while he kept her face and her hands in his mind.

Before his fingers could even undo the buttons of his vest to offer himself a relief he had been craving ever since he got the needle from Sabina's dress, he already heard the rushed steps coming closer. He squeezed his eyes shut and kept himself from cursing out loud. He wanted to play with himself, to deny himself what he wanted while getting little amounts of pleasure until his eyes would well up with tears. Only then, after begging to that empty room and calling her name, he would allow himself to let go.

But that would have to wait.

Sébastien dropped his hand over the mattress, not finding the strength to even sit up. The young woman left drained.

“Sébastien?” Belshaw opened the door of his room to check if he was there, not bothering himself with knocking. He frowned slightly when he saw him there, not even reacting to his visit. “You okay?”

The younger man only let out a small and affirmative noise.

“You sure?”

The very same noise as before but a little longer.

“Wonderful.” he obviously avoided asking any further because he was going to talk his ear off once again. “Move, will you?” he patted his hip as he stood close by the bed. When Sébastien shifted slightly, Belshaw sat down by the edge of the bed. “Those are gardenias?” he couldn't help but ask. Before the other could make another noise, he interrupted him: “How did it go? The date, I mean.”

Sébastien sighed as his cheeks started to itch.

Belshaw found him when he was only sixteen years old. He knew him well enough to understand that reaction.

“That well?” he sounded a little surprised.

“She is captivating...” he finally muttered, sounding as lovesick as he felt. “We will meet again on Thursday.” and he was desperate for those forty hours to pass by.

“Are you?” Belshaw asked as he stole one of the three flowers, bringing it up to his nose before playing with it. “You like her quite a bit, don't you?” And then there was clear fondness both in Belshaw's eyes and voice. Something reserved only for Sébastien.

He finally looked up at him and nodded. With great effort, he pushed himself up and sat properly. His forehead fell heavily over Belshaw's shoulder who chuckled and patted the back of his head.

“Just one look from her... and I'm _ready_.” he muttered. Her hazel eyes could land on him for a little longer than what would be acceptable and his body would react. He knew. It was still warm and aching for her.

“ _Ready_?”

He surely knew what he was trying to say and yet...

Sébastien looked up at him and almost pouted before he smacked his shoulder and leaned back, collapsing over the bed again.

Belshaw laughed a second time and laid down by his side on the very narrow bed. He turned his head and finally asked:

“Instantly?”

“ _Instantly_.” It was like a basic instict, the most animalistic one, told him she was the one. That if he did things well enough, he would no longer deal with loneliness. And that made his heart race and almost brought him to tears.

“Marry her.” Belshaw sentenced. “It's not usual to find someone who can cause such reaction within you. And as much as I regret saying this,” he grinned when Sébastien frowned. “she is clever and interesting. Quite pretty too. And you do need some _military discipline_ , unruly child.”

“Shut up...” he sulked.

“And since you like her so much...” he twirled the flower, testing the waters. “You should tell her. What you do for a living. You can't trick the girl, Sébastien. That's not right.”

Sébastien huffed.

“You trick every woman you meet.”

“I don't love them, but you care about her. Don't ruin it by being a liar.”

“It was your idea to trick her in first place when you forced me to dress up as a soldier.”

“I truly didn't expect her to be that perceptive. But she is!” he rushed to add when Sébastien glared at him. “She is quite perceptive. I'm flattering her, stop scowling! My point is: the situation you are in now has nothing to do that with that first meeting. There are new rules in this game. Everything you are, you learned it from me and that might have helped you survive, but it won't help you keep a woman by your side. Sooner or later, they find out the truth and there's no going back from there. Look at Aimée...” he whispered and for a second he almost seemed to be sad about what he clearly lost. “Tell her.”

“I don't want to lose her.”

“She wants to make money.” Belshaw was there when she confessed her desire to pay for her sisters' dowry. “And you can help her with that. It wouldn't be a confession, implying that you are a fraud and a forger. More like... An invitation.”

“ _No_.”

“Don't be stubborn! She wants to make money and you are offering her the perfect chance! What is going to happen if you don't? I'll tell you want happens.” he leaned over his forearm, pointing at him. “She will see you have _nothing_ and that she won't have the chance to help her sisters.”

“She wants to make the money herself.” he replied defensively.

“Like it's that easy for a woman to start working.” he rolled his eyes. “Even more a woman of her status. She might be poor as you are, but she is still a Martel.”

Sébastien deflated and made himself smaller. He shrugged, not wanting to talk about it any further.

“I don't want to disappoint her...” he whispered.

Belshaw sighed and patted Sébastien's forehead.

“You'll disappoint her if she sees that you are keeping things away from her. And if she rejects you, then it's the easiest way to see you two weren't meant to be together.”

Belshaw clearly wanted to make a copy of one of Madame's books. He knew that it could bring them plenty of money and that was, after all, his only wish. The desire to leave poverty in the past, that has been a nightmare that lasted for far too long. Sébastien was well aware of that, but he also wanted to believe that if he said so it was because he thought it would be beneficial both for him and Sabina.

After a long silence, he eventually mumbled:

“I'll think about it.”

*** * ***

He actively avoided thinking about.

So there he was, that Thursday's morning, waiting in the hall —he had the feeling they would never be allowed to venture any further inside the manor— to meet Sabina. Belshaw smiled at him and crossed his arms, before looking at the insane amount of clocks they kept in there. He was practically sure they added a few more since their last visit. Sébastien rolled his shoulders and only turned when he heard the main door of the house opening.

The young man that came in looked a little surprised to find the both of them. He carried a hat and riding crop under his arm. The fact that had the same high cheekbones and delicate jaw as Maude left quite clear that he was her brother and another of Sabina's cousins.

“Hello?” he blinked as he stepped inside of his house, quickly scanning what they were wearing and visibly thinking they were out of place.

“We are waiting for Mademoiselle Martel.” Belshaw briefly filled him in.

“Which one?” the young man asked as he closed the door after him.

“Sabina.” Sébastien took the chance to say her name out loud.

The young man huffed like that would an arduous job and while Belshaw could agree with that feeling, it was clear that he didn't held any kind of fondness towards his cousin.

“Right.” he offered his hand and introduced himself: “Armand Martel.”

“Sébastien Le Livre.” he shook it firmly, perhaps a little tighter than necessary.

“Étienne Belshaw.” Another handshake.

“Nice to meet you, gentlemen.” he beamed and chuckled. “You see, this is surprising! After the doctor, my father and I kept thinking that there was no way Sabina would get married. Ah... She's a complicated one. A bad egg, as you would say. Always so sour and so... _bossy_. Men can't possibly like that in a woman.” he rolled his eyes, assuming that it was fitting to speak poorly of a woman to the man who intended to marry her. “The doctor eventually lost interest in her and honestly? Makes sense. You know how women are... with their _whimsical nature_. They want something until they don't. My cousin plays with men like a little girl plays with dolls. Women can't be trusted with serious decisions... They don't know what they want!” he kept talking, making a fool out of himself. Sébastien felt _angry_. “Right?” he turned towards Belshaw, smiled.

The older man smiled back but said _nothing_. He was far more worried about the tight expression on Sébastien's face.

“My cousins are not a great deal.” he was never silenced in his life and it showed. He was never asked to shut up and stop speaking nonsense. Armand thought that everything that came out of his mouth was worth listening to. “God help them, they are in an awful position. Six girls with no one to turn to! My father was so kind to let them stay here with us. They could have ended in an orphanage!” Sébastien's eyebrows twitched. “ _Some_ of them, the others... God, they could have already married back home. Silvia was already _twenty_ when she arrived here.” He must have been around that age and there he was, living with his parents still. No ring on his finger. “But what can you do about it? They are family...” he huffed, as if he desired every night that the four sisters would disappear as soon as the Sun would rise. “My cousins are as valuable as a limiping horse, Monsieur Le Livre, but I guess that's as good as you can get.” he smiled widely and patted his shoulder.

Then he walked past him, stepping inside of the sitting room, and Sébastien looked at Belshaw. The man cringed and shrugged:

“I wouldn't do it _here_ , but...” he adviced him. “ _Damn_.”

In one second, that idiot managed to run his mouth in a way that would not be forgiven anywhere else other than in the comfort of his father's manor, where he experimented no consequences for _anything_ he said.

Sébastien licked his lower lip and walked past Belshaw who considered that for the amount of people that lived there, the first floor was always unusually calm. Either that or they hid whenever _people like them_ came over.

“Hey.” he said, not even looking around, careless about how the room was decorated. Armand was removing his boots. The fact he seemed to have a horse only for himself and that Sabina wasn't even allowed to use the coach made him even _angrier_. “I want to talk to you for a second.” Sébastien brushed his nose, holding himself back from smacking him across the face.

“Of course.” the young man said, still unaware of what he said.

Armand stood up and Sébastien got in his space, towering over him. The Martel weren't especially tall, but once again he met very few people who were taller than him.

“You see, I think you failed to notice I want to marry your cousin.” he began and the little chuckle that escaped his lips made his heartbeat speed up. Oh, if they were only in the streets...! “That's the woman I want to marry. I don't know if you kids are taught any sort of respect in this fucking house, but I'll tell you something, Armand:” Belshaw told him that you had to use their name, that makes the threat far more intimate. That makes them understand you know who they are and will go after them if they don't learn their lesson. “I don't like it when someone speaks ill about someone I _greatly_ admire.”

“I don't think she's w—”

“Ah, ah.” Sébastien stopped him with a tight smile. “I am not done talking. You are going to listen to me and when I'm done you can prattle all you want.” And if he doesn't like what he says, then Armand will have to pick his teeth from the floor.

He stayed quiet with Maude because it caught him off guard and the girl was fairly young. But this rubbed him the wrong away and Sabina was still nowhere to be seen.

Armand frowned but closed his mouth. He looked even more confused when he poked his chest. This was a first for him.

“I've been in this house three times.” Four, but he second time he wasn't allowed to get inside. The best thing the four sisters could do was get away from that manor as soon as possible. You can't live both without money or respect. “And I can only imagine the humiliations Sabina and her sisters constantly go through.” Armand attempted to defend himself and Sébastien squared his jaw. “ _Shut the fuck up_.” he warned him a second time. “And you tell me that she's childish? That women can't be trusted with what they want? That she's bossy and sour? What the _fuck_ ” he snarled the word. “do you know about your cousin? Huh?” Armand blinked, not knowing if he should talk or not. “Not a goddamn thing. They were only allowed to live in this house for you kids to have someone to look down on.” And that made him so angry. _So miserably angry._ “So.” he was not done talking. “When you say all those things, like you know her character and firmly believe she's _a bad egg_ , I feel offended.” Sébatien touched his own chest. “Greatly. Offended enough to get angry. And I don't think you've seen all that many people angry about what you said, have you?”

Armand eventually denied.

“No, I don't fucking think so, Armand. Your nose would be crooked and you'd have to chew your food with the last eight teeth in your mouth. You are a very lucky boy, you know?” he looked around and restured to the room. “If we were anywhere else, I'd beat you up. I wouldn't even think twice about it.” With his fists and the heels of his boots, as it happened with others before. “You'd probably cry and beg me to stop and I would ask you if you learned your lesson. But boys like you _don't_ learn. You are not the first one I meet, you know? You talk as much as you want and people can't do anything about it. _Until they can_. And when they can, it gets pretty damn ugly for them.” If a monarch could fall, a little spoiled boy wouldn't be any trouble. “Consider this a present. I'm teaching you a very good lesson. Be respectful, or deal with the consequences. From now and on, I want to hear how friendly you are to your cousins. How much you respect them.”

A nod this time.

Sébastien nodded right along with him, as the feral smile appeared over his lips again before he licked the upper one.

“Good, wonderful.” he added. “Because if I hear anything, the smallest thing... I won't be happy about it. Anything you'll be saying to them, it's like you'd be saying it to me. And you don't want me to be angry.” Sébastien grew up in a world of violence and intimidation. It was his natural habitat. The fact he was kind and desperately wanted to have love in his life did not erase any of that. “So, the next time I hear you are saying shit like that... I'll make sure you eat all four horseshoes of your funny beast,” he kicked the boot Armand left on the floor. “understood?”

Armand cleared his throat and looked down. He jerked his head up and down.

“Clever boy.” Sébastien patted his cheek and the last one was a little harsher, enough to turn his head. _Little shit_.

“Sébastien!”

The man jumped and turned around, seeing Sabina in the middle of the sitting room. She pressed her lips together and furrowed her eyebrows, exhaling sharply. _Angry_. He parted his lips before she said:

“Come with me. _Now_.”

She wouldn't scold him in front of her cousin, who still didn't know if he was slapped or just kindly advised. Armand's relationship with the world was so delusional and deached from reality that it was hard for him to decode the real meaning before the lesson/threat he just heard.

Sébastien walked after her. Since she got to know him a little more, by now, Sabina could tell a few things about him, and one of them was that Sébastien had the bad habit of slouching.

She noticed little after they met. He was tall and perhaps he almost wanted to conceal that fact by always walking behind someone. She could only assume that most of the times, it was Belshaw who lead him. Slowly, Sabina also noticed that he was allowing her to take that role. He followed her, practically looming over her shouder, like he wanted to find comfort in her neck after he did something he wasn't supposed to do. It was a little intrusive and right now, when she was angry and clearly shaken —he intimidated her cousin, for God's sake! In her uncle's house!—, he did so while breathing nervously and she couldn't help but feel an uncontrolable wave of tenderness towards the man.

But she had to let him understand there were things that couldn't be done under certains roofs.

She walked past Belshaw and her three sisters, who probably discussed and warned her of what was happening. When she opened the door of the infamous piano room so Sébastien would enter inside —she didn't look back at him when he desperately tried to find her eyes—, she kept the other four from joining them.

Sabina slammed the door shut and turned towards him. Sébastien's head and shoulders slumped.

“What the Hell was that?” she crossed her arms and walked towards him. The man stepped back until he bumped against the piano who melodically complained. “Huh?” she urged him to answer.

“He spoke about you and I d—”

“And _what_?” she interrupted him, looking up at him, not letting the height difference to diminish her anger.

“And I didn't like what he said!” he rushed himself to answer. “He was being disrespectful.”

“Oh, unheard-of! My cousin Armand being disrespectful! Then you must know he barely knows how it is to live in the real world! He doesn't _think_! He says whatever he wants to say. It's not even malice, he is just an idiot.” she huffed.

“Why are you defending him...?” Sébastien heard his own voice and even he could tell that he was sulking even if he would never admit it.

“Because he is my cousin! My uncle's _little prince_ , you see. If he speaks ill of you to my uncle, he might not allow me to marry you anymore!” The only way to keep Gaspard Martel from wanting to get one of his nieces married was if one of their suitors offended his children. It didn't matter how poorly he treated the sisters. “Is that what you want?!”

Sébastien looked down and denied. He felt happy. _Stupidly happy_. Did that mean that Sabina wanted to make sure she will have the chance to marry him? Was she starting to like him as he started to like her? Just as a much?

_Oh, please, please, please..._

“You can't act like that.” she lowered her voice but her tone was still very strict. “I don't know what you do on a daily basis, but you can't go around threatening everybody! That's not how people handle their problems, Sébastien.” She was not the kind to stay silent when others treated her poorly, but there was a line that shouldn't be crossed. Even less when she still depended on her uncle.

“I'm not a doctor...” he huffed.

She furrowed her nose like that was both a low blow and a terrible memory. He would want to know her story with that man. It was not jealousy, it was curiosity. He found the other two suitors that came before the physician rather boring. But the third one stayed long enough for her sisters and even her cousin to remember him.

“That has nothing to do with anything.” she replied. “And you don't _have_ to be. A man can be a doctor and can still be possessive, cruel and disrespectful. I'm not going to marry that kind of man. And you know what? I refuse to marry a violent man, either. So tell me,” she stepped even closer. Sébastien looked away before she held his chin in her hand. “is this what you do? You are... a bully? A criminal? This is what you do?”

He didn't intimidate people for a living... _so to speak_. It used to be part of his job —maybe still was, here and there— and he was, indeed, a criminal. He would go to to jail or worse if someone found out about what they did. But how could he tell her all of that? How could he lose the chance to be able to spend the rest of his life with her?

Belshaw's words came to his head, encouraging him to be honest. It wasn't fair to trick her. He wouldn't be any better than all those who disrespected her. To lie to her would be an offense, to force her to live with a man she barely knew would be a life sentence.

“Well?” she urged him to answer.

And then it came out of his lips before he could think about it any further:

“I'm a forger.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Buèlo/Buèla: Literally it means "gut" ("budello" in Italian) but this word in the Venetian language is often used as an insult to describe a person who is vulgar, rude and despicable.
> 
> 2 For the first time in centuries, respectable but daringly fashionable women would leave the house without a hat or bonnet, previously something often associated with prostitutes. However, most women continued to wear something on their head outdoors. Source: Wikipedia
> 
> 3 Jean-François-Thérèse Chalgrin (1739 – 21 January 1811) was a French architect, best known for his design for the Arc de Triomphe, Paris. Source: Wikipedia
> 
> 4 Owning a car, in 1789, in Paris, remained the privilege of the nobles and the richer burghers. It meant keeping a coachman or lackey, owning a stable for the horses and a shed to store hay, straw, water and oats. The development of hired coaches and cabs, the ancestors of today’s taxis, that could be rented by the day or by the hour, gradually broadened the usage of passenger cars. Source: Theconversation.com
> 
> 5 The gardenia is a flower that symbolizes purity, gentleness and everything related to the spiritual world, especially pure attraction. Gardenias are often given to others when you feel a special love for another person and he/she still doesn’t know. Source: Verdissimo.com


	3. TROIS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Then Sébastien turned to the left and counted the doors. One, two, three...
> 
> And _four_. 
> 
> He stopped by door and Sabina stood right behind him, with her body close to his. She turned her head over her shoulder and looked around hurriedly. _The coast was still clear_. While she checked the outside, Sébastien did the same with the inside. He opened the door as silently as possible. When he saw that there was no one in the studio, he slipped inside. 
> 
> The door gave a weak click as Sabina pressed the heel of her boot against it to close it. Sébastien didn't release her hand just yet, but when he saw the large and beautiful tapestry portraying the last seconds before Orpheus turned to make sure that his beloved Eurydice was right behind him, he felt the sudden and anxious need to pull her even closer. 
> 
> Her warm and reassuring presence eased that foolish fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter where EVERYBODY starts getting horny. 
> 
> Sorry about the typos, enjoy! :)

“...What?” she asked after a silence that surely lasted more to Sébastien than what Martel's clocks wanted to admit.

He sniffed and rubbed the tip of his nose. His shoulders were tense no matter how hard he tried to stay calm. His heart was right on his throat and his stomach heavy as iron.

“I'm a forger.” he forced himself to repeat.

“Like... Counterf—”

“I'm a _fraud_.” he interrupted her. Those words hurt so bad because ever since she caught him on his first lie, he attempted to be honest. To show her everything he was, no matter how uninteresting or even shameful it could be. It was him who spoke in Martel's garden, it was him who helped her with her dress, it was him who held the back of wrist with devotion in the coach. “A criminal[1].”

Sabina continued to look at him, this time in silence.

He didn't want her to reject him. He didn't want to hear what he heard many other times before —that he wasn't enough, that he was inadequate, that he was little else than a good-for-nothing—. Not from her; not from her lips.

“I'll go.” he whispered, desperate to avoid the impending situation.

“...Wait.” Sabina sighed.

“I apologize, Mademoiselle.” his voice could barely be heard. He was all shame and regret. Sébastien didn't want to consider himself a liar, but a very few times the truth became his ally. Concealing as much as he could about himself and his real intentions usually protected him.

 _Must be the art of a forger_.

“I won't bother you again.” he promised, ignoring how his voice broke at the realization that he _almost_ got what he wanted. He couldn't force her to step into a life that could hurt her so much in the long run.

“Don't leave.” she stepped in front of him.

He looked away from her, using the height difference between them in his own benefit.

“I have to go.” he insisted, his heart loud and fast in his chest.

“You can't leave.” her hands landed on his waist, digging her thumbs against his flesh, painful enough for him not want to step forward.

His arms felt heavy and he wanted to wrap them around her, tight as possible, and ask her to _please, please, please_ keep him.

“You have to tell me about it.” Sabina urged him as she looked up at him, her hazel eyes wide and questioning. “You need to tell me about it so I can take a decision.”

Sébastien finally looked down at her and could see a _please_ dying right on her lips.

“There's no tragic story behind it.”

He tried to be strong, he refused to use pity to win her over. He couldn't possibly make her believe he had no other choice. At any moment he could have walked away from Belshaw or have found another job after he learned how to read and write. Or even before that. You don't need much more than physical strength to become a tanner. But why did he avoid it? Self-preservation; his desire to stay alive.

“I still want to hear it.”

Her arms wrapped loosely around his waist. Sébastien's knees were about to give in. She had to know that was the easiest way to make sure he wasn't going anywhere.

He held onto her shoulders; narrow but gave him the stability that he needed.

“I was kicked out of the orphanage when I turned sixteen.” he swallowed thickly. “I didn't know what to do or where to go.” He left out the fact that they wouldn't even let him keep his shoes. Not when they could be used by another kid. “A couple of weeks later, when I thought there wasn't that much hope left for me, I met Belshaw. He said he needed someone who would look tough or _tall_ at least. And well... ” He allowed his height to speak for him in that sense. She nodded. “A couple of years after that, we started... doing this and ever since.” he shrugged slightly. “I could have done something else but he is my family. I trust him.” He did even if he knew that sometimes he really shouldn't. Like when he forced him to dress up as a soldier.

“Sounds a little tragic to me...” Sabina didn't have the happiest life either, but at least she had her sisters and, in a way, she understood why he wanted to stay with his friend. Belshaw was probably the only person who ever showed Sébastien some love and respect.

 _But now I'm here too_ , she couldn't help but think.

“It's just my life.” A long time waiting for a handful of joys.

“And what do you usually...?” she began asking.

“Documents, mostly.” he mumbled. He pressed his lips and denied: “It's not much money, but...” And then, he decided to follow Belshaw's advice again since it was the only one he had. “He suggested... forging books. We would make more money.”

“Would you?” her voice was understanding, calm.

“But we can't do the illustrations ourselves. We are not good at it and Pascal... Pascal can't draw anymore.”

“Oh?” she tilted her head.

“Gambler.”

“Ah.” she must have met someone with that habit by the way she instantly understood what that meant. Maybe her father?

“We...” he moved his hand away from her shoulder and rubbed the back of his neck. “We need someone to do that for us.”

“Is that so?”

“...Yes.” he didn't dare to tell her directly. What if she felt offended? What if she accepted? Sure, neither him nor Belshaw would ever reveal that she took part in such activity but...

“How much money do you think that person would get...?” she tentatively asked.

His hand quickly moved back to her, caressing the fabric of the sleeves of her dress.

“A third part of what we make.” he promised. “Belshaw hasn't told me yet how much it could be, but... If he is really eager to try it's because we can make plenty.” They would only have to find someone who would be willing to pay for a first edition of a scandalous book. And if Belshaw was good at something, it was at finding the person with a very particular need.

Sabina's face revealed she was going through several emotions: interest, temptation, wariness. She parted her lips a couple of times before she said:

“Here, sit with me.” she moved to the side and sat down over the stool in front of the piano; wide enough to play duets.

Sébastien joined her immediately. His felt anxious and confused, the pleading noise he made forced her to hold his hands and squeeze them.

“I want you to stay.” she looked at him in the eye and nodded. Her thumb moved over his knuckles soothingly. “I... surely didn't expect it and I don't... particularly like it.” Because no woman wanted to think that her future husband could eventually go to jail. That would be quite a problem. “But if you are telling me this, it's because there must be a reason.” She was not sure if she believed in destiny. Probably not, but this is the situation she had and she was offered a solution. “I heard my uncle speaking with my aunt about Simonetta.” she sighed.

“They want to marry her?” he ventured to ask, still holding onto her soft hands like dear life.

“They would marry us all to the same man if that implied never seeing us again.” Sabina rolled her eyes. Her actions had consequences and now she put her sisters in a very complicated situation. She had to help them. “Simonetta is... She likes to daydream.” she explained. “The way she had to escape the reality we were dealing with when our mother died... and before that, even,” she huffed. “was to assume that she would marry... a prince or something like that.” Sabina smiled both with compassion and pity. Simonetta grew up with time, but was unable to leave those childish dreams behind. At that point, they softened the disenchantment of daily life. “I can't offer her that much, but if she had a dowry, she could marry other than a sixty year old butcher. That's no life for her. I know my sister, it would destroy her. She needs to keep the young girl she is, deep down, alive. It was her most loyal companion during times of tragedy.”

Sabina squeezed his hands a second time and looked at him. Sébastien resisted the urge to kiss her fingers.

“No one would know... right?” she asked carefully, lowering her voice. She was a woman with a very strong personality, but that didn't mean she was careless to the fact that if she got caught, she could end up in trouble. Very serious trouble.

“No one.” he promised, not looking away from her.

“Then... Let's plan this throughly.”

*** * ***

It was past midnight on a Friday night and Simonetta was still awake. She had her cheek over her shoulder, with an arm wrapped around her, whispering not to wake up the younger pair of sisters, sleeping on the other bed. Sabina looked anxiously at the window of their bedroom —crowded with the two beds, an outfashioned folding screen and small vanity in the corner— and sighed right before telling her sister to fall asleep.

“I can't...” she whispered miserably. “I have the feeling I'm enjoying my last moments as an unmarried woman...” Sabina refused to tell her what she overheard, but the mood in the house changed after Tuseday. “You shouldn't have done that, you know...?” Simonetta muttered, resentful but unable to blame her directly.

“I know.” she replied. “I'm sorry.”

“And yet you'd do it again.”

Now that she probably had a solution for her sister's problem? _For sure_.

Sabina stayed in silence, not wanting to lie to her.

“You must like him quite a bit.” Simonetta began, bringing up a new topic. “Sébastien.” she clarified as if there were many Sabina could choose from. “Sancia told me she spoke with him and that he's not very eloquent but that he has good intentions.”

“He is eloquent.” she defended him right away, earning a smile from her younger sister. “He only finds it complicated to speak up. He's a nervous thing, you know? I believe he was constantly rejected as a child. Now he has a burning need to please and that's why he struggles saying the right thing. He feels like he is playing a losing game.”

“You know him quite well after only having four dates with him...” she teased not unkindly.

“ _Three_. I wouldn't count our first meeting at all.” Not considering how he attempted to trick her. Ah, poor boy. He must feel so inadequate when she saw so much potential in him.

“And you already know?” Simonetta couldn't help but ask. “That you love him?”

“That I want him.” she closed her eyes and sighed. “It feels bold to say that I love him when I know I can grow to feel way more than I do for him with time.”

After a short silence, Simonetta confessed:

“I'm happy for you.”

It was unlikely that none of them would eventually marry a man they would love. One they could grow fond of? Perhaps. But that desire and fondness Sabina seemed to have developed towards Sébastien was natural and yet, so rare at the same time.

Sabina turned to look at her sister and couldn't help but smile, distracted at the moment. Simonetta gave her some space and leaned her cheek over her hand.

“I like him.” she repeated a second time. “He's tall... and robust.” It was clear that it was something he worked on. From what he told her, his main job when he was nothing but a boy was to look strong and menacing. That almost made her want to laugh, considering how he babbled and constantly seeked her approval. On the other hand, she also saw him intimidating her cousin. Both sides live in the very same man. “I _really_ want to see his body.”

“Sabina!” Simonetta snickered.

“Shhh...!” the last thing she needed was her other sisters also waking up. “It's true. I like his shoulders and his thighs.” While that uniform he stole made him look ridiculous, it also revealed her the way his body was built. “But he keeps looking at me with those eyes...” And they are sweet, full of love that he is desperate to offer. “Wanting to please me. Wanting to make me happy.” That never happened before. “Waiting for me to ask...” And why not use the word that so many used to describe her? “to _demand_ something from him.”

“He seems to be your type, then.”

“He is.” She didn't say they were compatible for no reason. Sabina leaned a bit over her forearms and eyed the window. “He is the one for me, I know.” she whispered.

“Why do you keep looking at the w—”

Simonetta turned around and her eyes widened when she spotted Sébastien's head emerging behind the window. When the girl saw him, he quickly ducked even if it was already too late. Before Simonetta could even think about screaming, Sabina covered her mouth with a hand.

“Shhh!” she looked at the other bed. Sancia and Santina were still sleeping, _thank God_. “I told him to come, don't get scared, okay? Don't scream! Don't do _anything_.” Simonetta needed a couple of seconds to nod slowly. “Alright.” she lowered her hand. “Don't freak out.” she reminded her.

Her green eyes were focused on her, still confused and perhaps even slightly scared. If an intruder —granted, it was _only_ Sébastien— ever got inside of their room, they had no one that would run to help them.

“Why is he here?” she quickly covered her body with the sheets. Sébastien might be a somehow endearing man, but she was not going to let him see her wearing so little _for sure_. She was not the one who was considering marrying the man.

“I asked him to come.” Sabina was already getting out of bed. She gestured at Sébastien, allowing to understand that it was fine they were caught by Simonetta.

“You did?!” she raised her voice a bit before she forced herself to keep it down. “...Whatever you think you are going to do, you are not doing it in front of me and our sisters, Sabina.”

Sabina frowned as she opened the door, looking at her briefly.

“Don't be dirty-minded, Simonetta.” she shook her head and quickly turned towards Sébastien, switching languages and helping the man sneak inside. “Are you okay? Here, be careful.”

Sébastien smiled at her when she brushed his clothes. He briefly observed the awake sister who frowned a bit, still horribly confused. He nodded slightly, as a meek greeting. His eyes landed on Sabina a second time, briefly yet intensely noticing the fact that she was wearing a very thin bed jacket[2] over her night shift[3] —both garments looked flimsy, like they were barely enough to protect her from the cold. Her curls were escaping the front of night cap that she was already attempting to remove, not wanting to waste more time.

“Did you bring...?” she asked right before he showed her the bundle of clothes he carried under his right arm. “Wonderful.” she praised him and Sébastien's cheeks tingled with satisfaction. “Simonetta, help me.” she asked before she took the clothes.

“With what?” she asked. “What's going on?” she asked yet once again, unable to understand what was going on.

“I need to leave.” she threw the night cap over the bed.

Sébastien sighed and played with his hands when he saw one long wavy lock of hair hair escaping the bun and how her short night jacket couldn't possibly hide the roundness of her ass. He exhaled heavily and decided to turn away as the sisters started arguing in Venetian while making sure not to disturb the other two. Sébastien had the feeling that those two could easily sleep through a war.

The fact they only had two beds for the four sisters did not surprise him. Nor how thin and narrow their mattresses were. When he was little, he shared his _bed_ with other children at the orphanage. Maybe it would be somehow interesting to specify that the _bed_ was nothing but a couple of blankets over the cold and hard floor and a few thin pillows the kids would fight for every single night. Using a companion as one was a bad idea; they were all bony and frail as they could be.

Simonetta got out of bed now that the man was facing the window, in silence and visibly flustered after seeing her sister wearing so little.

“He saw you. He looked at you and he _saw_ you!” Simonetta scolded her as she met her sister behind the folding screen.

“Good, let him desire my body as much as my character. Our marriage will be plentiful.” she said rather carelessly, hanging the clothes she was given before she untied the night jacket over her chest.

“Don't speak like that, I can feel our poor mother twisting in her grave.” she huffed.

“How do you think she had _six_ daughters?” Sabina snickered as she stepped out of her night shift.

“Stop playing!” she held her sister's arms to get her attention. “What are you going to do? Where are you even going? These are male's clothes!” Simonetta bit her lower lip. “Is he forcing you to go with him? Is he being cruel to you?” He wouldn't be the first man to trick a woman's family to earn their acceptance. Their own father did so with their mother.

“Of course not! Look at him, he melts like honey under my touch. He is the kindest man I've met in a very long time.” she grabbed the linen shirt. “He... We are going to do something. It's not dangerous, don't worry. But we'll get some money out of it.”

“At night? And dressed as a man?” Simonetta kept looking at her, anxious and scared. “It can't possibly be anything safe! Please, don't go!”

“I have to go!” Sabina huffed, slipping the trousers[4] up her legs. She had to bounce a bit to fit her hips inside of the garment. “We need that money and you know that.”

“What for? Money is not going to change anything.” she saw her sister struggled to do all her buttons. “Suck it in.” And while she was against this, she was unable not to help her.

Sabina inhaled and stopped breathing as she did when her sister tied her stays. Simonetta pressed her lips and shook her head but finished the task quite quickly.

“Money will change everything.” Sabina finally answered when she could finally breathe as the buttons dug in her soft flesh. “I put you in a very complicated situation, sister.” One she refused to tell her about. It would break her heart. “And I am going to solve it.” Then she put the vest and the boots on.

“You don't look like a man.” Simonetta shook her head. “Tighten the vest a little more.” she folded the lapels, softening the curve of her chest. She still didn't look quite convinced and finally helped her sister to get all of her hair inside of the cap she saw so many working men wearing: brown, old and plain. Still, the disguise didn't work the miracle her sister desperately needed. “Please, don't go.” Simonetta worried that they would attempt to steal something or even worse. “You don't even look like a boy, please, Sabina.” she held her arm as her sister attempted to walk behind the folding screen.

“I have to go.” she insisted, still speaking in Venetian. Sébastien turned and smiled at her, sheepishly. She trusted him. She _had_ to do this for her sister. There was no other way. Sabina kissed her sister's cheek but Simonetta didn't let her go. Then the eldest sighed and caressed her hair, looking at her. “Didn't you dream of waltzing with Dukes and Princes? This might take you closer to those ballrooms.” She doubted that one book could turn her sister into a Duchess, but at least it would save her from the misery of being touched by a grimy old man with viscera under his nails.

“Not by sacrificing you.” A childish dream was, after all, only that _a dream_. She couldn't possibly put her sister at stake only because she wished to have better in life.

Then the older sister smiled and gently squeezed the back of Simonetta's neck.

“This man respects me, Simonetta.” She had no doubt of such thing. When he confessed his deepest secret and promised that she would never be discovered while making money in such a dubious way, Sabina knew that she already had Sébastien's respect. Maybe she knew in the same moment she suggested what she wanted to do about her sisters' dowry and he even praised such decision. “This is no sacrifice.” she kissed her cheek one last time. “Go to bed. I'll be back before sunrise.”

Simonetta sighed and finally let her go, doubting she was doing the right thing. And since Sabina knew her sister well and how she always felt tempted to be fair even when the situation demanded another kind of reaction from her, she placed a hand on Sébastien's arm so they would leave before she would attempt to do so.

Sébastien helped her climb down the window as much as the gravity and her new clothes allowed. She huffed as soon as her feet landed over the soft grass over Martel's garden. The boots had way more room than she needed and she could already tell that it would be a _long_ walk.

He was right there, by her side, no longer daring to touch her as his palm hovered over her back but didn't touch the fabric of the borrowed vest. When she began walking, he rushed to go after her, looking up one last time, seeing Simonetta by the window.

“Do you think she might tell your uncle?” he asked carefully since he didn't figure out much of the conversation both sisters had.

“It's hard to tell... I hope not.” she sighed. “But even if she did, I have the feeling he wouldn't start searching me before breakfast.” Sad and harsh, but true.

“So there's no risk of me getting arrested for...” he licked his lips. “abducting a very respectable lady in the middle of the night, right?”

Sabina chuckled and his chest swelled. He loved that sound, he loved that sense of worth. He wanted more of her. He wanted all of her affection and tenderness. He _needed_ it.

“A respectable lady, Caporal? I only see two _rascals_ in the middle of the night.” she grinned and tapped the peak of the cap.

Sébastien then took the minute to look at her. The tickling sensation on his belly after seeing her wearing her night clothes and how her shape could be _easily_ guessed was still very much there. But this new outfit, so different from what he ever saw her wearing —while _still_ being a loan—, also sparked his now overly stimulated imagination.

The trousers were tight around her hips, that much was obvious. If he could tell from the front, then he surely didn't dare to walk behind her. Not this time or he would never make it to Madame's house without losing her respect.

The folded lapels of the vest were enough to hide her chest. The mere thought of considering that his palms were surely larger than necessary to cup her breasts made him sigh, long and heavy, looking ahead him anew.

He assumed that he got it out of his system. That he managed to tame his desire for her. After they came up with the plan and she promised that she would stay away, waiting for him, Sébastien understood that there was no way either his mind or his own body would let him survive that throbbing necessity to finally drowning in the experience that had to be to lay with her.

Sébastien devoted himself to it for an entire afternoon. He walked back home with Belshaw and said that he wasn't going to work with no other explanation other than a shrug. He locked himself in his little room and undressed himself before he treated himself like he expected she would treat him: with a little roughness, a cruel rectitude mixed with wicked playfulness, _never_ giving himself as much as he needed. Only enough to wet his eyelashes, his lips and his stomach, with her name stuck right behind his Adam's apple.

When both his heart and his wrist allowed him to understand he couldn't stretch the delicious agony any longer, exactly when it was so hard to breathe that he even forgot his own name, Sébastien allowed himself to let go. Then, after cleaning himself, he laid on his bed, with the scent of his own arousal, and observed the satirical sketch she drew for him with unprecedented fondness.

Such lust and such admiration could only lead him towards a route he could no longer avoid.

“It suits you.” he finally managed to say after a silence that while relaxed him a bit, could not control either his very creative mind or demanding body.

“As some of my cousins told me before, I already act like a man. Why not take that in my favour, for once?”

And perhaps, in such a separated and binomial world, Sabina could be considered to be closer to how a man was _expected_ to act: firm, intense, demanding and straightforward. She had a kind of temper that was often criticized in women but praised in men. She was what Sébastien could never even dream to be but what he so wanted in a partner. The game of appearance and power fit her so well.

He wanted her to kiss him intensely, he wanted her to tell him what to do to satisfy her.

How long until it happens? He could barely take it anymore.

*** * ***

It took them a little more than an hour to get to Madame's manor.

The plan was to wait until Belshaw would make them a signal from the inside. He left late in the afternoon to join the Madame in order to _distract her enough so she would end up exhausted_ , apparently. Sébastien could only hope that his friend would finish his part of the plan quickly so they could sneak inside of the library and take as many notes before sunrise. It would be a way too complicated task to accomplish considering that the novel had two volumes and he had to make sure to spot everything that could make that edition so particular.

Typos included.

Sébastien sighed and decided that the best he could do was not think about it and just deal with it when it happens.

He sat down over the grass of Madame's garden and leaned over his forearms with his eyes focused on the mansion —even bigger than the Martel's and just for one person and her servants.

“Now I understand why you didn't dare to sit down when you came to me dressed as a soldier.” Sabina decided that getting on her knees and then turning around would be best way to spare the fabric that covered her behind. “I assumed trousers would be far more comfortable.” But she'd rather wear stays than awfully tight trousers _any day_.

Sébastien licked his lips and eyed her when she finally rested over her hip and her elbow, facing him, one leg folded over the other. The fabric gripped her thighs in that position and the boots looked stupidly big. He recalled Belshaw stole those from a drunk man they once found passed out in the middle of the street.

“Maybe I should bring you my clothes, next time...” he suggested and he quickly regretted doing such. The mere idea of thinking of her very flesh warming up his clothes was too much. He rubbed his forehead and cleared his throat. “If there is a second time.” Which, he doubted but it was hard to tell. This little adventure happened so abruptly. Completely out of the blue.

“These are Belshaw's?” Sabina asked, looking down at what she was wearing.

“You two are closer in height.” he explained briefly. When he picked the clothes, he tried to choose the ones that would fit her better. He could have grabbed bigger trousers and yet, he _didn't_.

“Well... I guess that's true.” she nodded. She could only imagine how big Sébastien's clothes would look on her. And yet, that didn't keep her from wanting to wear them. She wanted his scent all over her. “Why do you call him by his surname?” she finally asked and leaned her head on her hand.

“He fears that if he uses his name, that his mother will eventually find him.” he knew well that Belshaw didn't want him to speak about him, as the man he was and not the man he _pretended_ to him. But Sabina asked and he had no desire to lie to her.

“That's not his real name?” she tilted her head.

“It would be far too much of a coincidence for his surname to be Belshaw[5].”

After a short silence, Sabina spoke again:

“He's dashing but not mesmerizing.” she placed a hand over Sébastien's chest and made him lay on his back. He didn't resist her. “Is his mother still alive?” she rested her cheek over his shoulder and left her arm draped over his stomach.

His heart started racing and his fingers pulled onto the blades of grass, quite nervously.

“We are not sure about that but doesn't want to risk it.” It was a miracle that his voice came out without trembling.

“Lying and pretending is never a great idea. It sets expectations we can't possibly match.” her voice caressed his neck. Sébastien squirmed but she squeezed the flesh of his side over the fabric of his shirt. “ _There is no truer, warmer pleasure in this world than to behold a great soul opening up towards oneself_.” she quoted with a smile. “Did you read that book, Sébastien?” she kept in mind that he was an avid reader. " _The Sorrows of Young Werther_? It's very sad, but very good."

“I haven't...” he wanted to turn his head towards her but the peak of her cap kept him in that very position. Instead, he rested a hand over her forearm. When she didn't say anything, he caressed it. “What's about?”

"About a man who is madly in love with the wife of a friend. He suffers tremendously since he can't possibly have her. The fact the respects and hates his friend only makes it far more tragic for him.” she briefly summarized the plot. “It sounds a little repetitive, perhaps, but it's beautifully written. I think you would enjoy it."

“I'll make sure to read it.” he promised. He wanted to discuss literature with her. To think about spending an entire afternoon sitting on the same couch, sharing impressions and interpretations seemed to be the perfect picture of happiness to him.

But why focus on what he could have better than what he had? It was a little bit cold, but the sky was clear and beautiful. All the stars above them, witnessing the intimate moment. The bushes and flowers shielded them from those that could notice they trespassed a private property.

“Sébastien?”

“Huh?”

“Tell me more about you.” she said. “Anything you want to share with me.”

Her desire to know more about him was flattering. No one ever showed such interest and that kept him from ever knowing how to share secrets and details about himself.

“There were eight of us in the orphanage.” For some reason that was what he decided to share with her.

“Eight kids?”

“No, eight boys named Sébastien.” he explained. “From the ages of four to ten, I felt like there was nothing that could tell me apart from them. Of course... That wasn't the case. Some were older, some were younger, some were taller” only until he turned fourteen, then everything changed when the redhead Sébastien died at the age of twelve. “some were meaner, some were sicker. But I felt like the nuns couldn't tell me apart from them because we all had the same name and no surname.” In the confused and desperate mind of a child who seeked care and affection, he wanted to stand out. Become the one who deserved all of their attention. “So I started calling the nuns 'mom'.”

“Did you?”

“Yeah...” Sébastien sighed with a small smile. Such a foolish boy that he used to be. “I thought... I thought that if I called them mom, that they would love me more than the others. That I'd become their favourite and they'd know me as their _son_ , Sébastien. Not _just_ Sébastien. They didn't like it one bit and whenever I called them mom, they would to strike me.” Pretty badly. Only thinking about it made the palms of his hands, cheeks and ass hurt. “But even if they did, I didn't stop calling them that.”

“Why not...?” Sabina leaned her weight over her forearm, looking down at him.

Sébastien opened his eyes and smiled, shyly, with a small shrug:

“I really wanted them to love me as much as a mother would.” he confessed with a soft voice. “I realised that having no family kept me from being a person, from having an identity. I was just one of the many little gaunt faces behind the fence of the orphanage. We would see children holding their parents' hands and they were _someone_. They were someone to their parents but we weren't to anyone. We had no surnames, no identities. We barely had clothes or were allowed to develop either... hobbies or have any talents. I was just one of them.” More during summer, less during winter for obvious reasons. “It kept me from feeling like a real boy. I wanted to be someone and I knew I wasn't. For that reason I thought: _Maybe my own indentity can be linked to someone else. Maybe I'll have worth once someone thinks of me as theirs. I'll belong to someone and they'll see someone worth taking care of_.” Sabina cupped his cheek and he leaned against her hand. “That's all I wanted.” Still was, perhaps.

“That's so sad...” she whispered as her tender fingers caressed his cheek.

That was the second time Sabina described something about his life as _sad_. Maybe he didn't quite understand yet the true meaning of tragedy. Maybe for him it was just _normality_.

“You have to understand, Sébastien, that when a child comes to this world, they already have an identity. Their existence is unique. They are one of a kind. Of course, belonging to a family gives you a... new sense of identity. You aren't only yourself, the person, but someone's son, someone's brother, someone's... husband.” she smiled kindly and he wished he had a ring on his finger. “But it isn't only that. You, here as you are and in this very moment, have worth. There will never be another Sébastien Le Livre with this face, with your story.”

Everything she said made sense and soothed his agonizing self-esteem, but that didn't make his desire to become hers any less vivid.

Sébastien brushed the tip of his nose against the palm of her soft hand. She smiled and pinched it, playfully, managing to make him mirror her amusement.

Sadly, the candles by the window gave a dim and silent light. Barely enough to be a signal but evident enough for those who were waiting for it.

*** * ***

“I'm done climbing tonight.” Sabina huffed when Sébastien helped her sneak inside of the manor. She almost knocked the chandelier with her boot, clearly not used to wear tight trousers. “Up or down, I'm done.”

Sébastien decided not to tell her how unlikely it would be for her to walk out of those house through the main door or go back to Martel's doing the very same. Instead, he carefully closed the window of what he assumed it was one of the many guest's rooms.

“This is very nice, isn't it...?” Sabina muttered as she finally looked around, easily noticing the richness and how that little room seemed to gather the luxury of different corners around the world. “Look at this carpet.” she even felt bad for stepping on it. “Gorgeous.”

“Belshaw is fond of oppulence in his partners. He says that they are often more affectionate if they are fond of spending money.” he explained before he offered his hand to her.

“Truly _astonishing_ how much he claims to know about women.” she scoffed before she held his hand. “Where are we going?” she lowered her voice, remembering the current task at hand.

“Studio.” Sébastien whispered back to her, opening the door ajar and peering through it to make sure there would be no servants awake and wandering around the corridors. “Third floor, fourth door to the left. There's a big tapestry. We can't miss it.” he repeated the words before he squeezed her and and rushed out of the room.

Sabina followed closely behind him, not looking behind her as they headed upstairs. It was complicated enough not to trip with those big boots and damned trousers. The thick carpets muffled their footsteps as they ascended to the following floor. Then Sébastien turned to the left and counted the doors. One, two, three...

And _four_.

He stopped by door and Sabina stood right behind him, with her body close to his. She turned her head over her shoulder and looked around hurriedly. _The coast was still clear._ While she checked the outside, Sébastien did the same with the inside. He opened the door as silently as possible. When he saw that there was no one in the studio, he slipped inside.

The door gave a weak click as Sabina pressed the heel of her boot against it to close it. Sébastien didn't release her hand just yet, but when he saw the large and beautiful tapestry portraying the last seconds before Orpheus turned to make sure that his beloved Eurydice[6] was right behind him, he felt the sudden and anxious need to pull her even closer.

Her warm and reassuring presence eased that foolish fear.

He had the feeling it surely come back with time. To lose her, wouldn't that be an agony?

“So now we only have to find it and copy as much as we can, right?” she decided to go through their plan that it was no longer so elaborated... if it ever was in the first place.

“Yeah...” Sébastien sighed as he nodded. He doubted that this was the library Belshaw spoke wonders about, but more where Madame probably stored those editions she cherished the most. While the shelves surrounded the room, it wasn't all _that big_. Or as big as he feared it would be. “Let's start searching.”

The idea of getting as much information of a novel with two volumes in one night —even less! How many hours until sunrise? Six, if they were lucky— was absolutely delirious, but they had to try their best.

It barely took Sabina five minutes to find the novel. She picked both volumes and gently left them on the desk. Sébastien pulled out folded papers and pencils he carried in his pockets and offered some to Sabina. Her fingers were getting a little cold. He resisted the desperate need to warm them up with his own hands and breath.

“I take one book and you do the other?” she suggested.

“Yes, let me just...” he whispered before he started scribbling down the several details that defined the appearance of the book. He would have to find a similar leather, ink and mimick every single thing, no matter how small, so it would be identical to the original.

Sabina waited for him to finish in silence. As soon as he moved one of the volumes towards her, she opened it and started copying the first illustration that she found. It couldn't be awfully detailed and it would be nothing but a sketch, but enough for her to be able to replicate it.

Sébastien's task was no less complicated. He had to read as fast as possible, spotting as much about the text as possible: typography, errors, damages, decorations and so on. An arduous job that would be very complicated to accomplish, but... He had to try.

When it came to the text itself, the story... _Well_. That was certainly more complicated and at the same time, far easier. It would be copied from a way cheaper edition. Perhaps one that Belshaw would manage to steal from the poor fool that would claim to have such thing in their possession.

The current challenge required of all of his senses to be working together. He needed to focus and yet, several elements were making the task practically impossible. The fact it was well past midnight, the lock of hair that kept falling from Sabina's cap, her scent floating in the air, the faint light of the candles making her cheeks even warmer, the subtle touch of her fingers as she flipped the pages and yet the energetic sketching of her hand.

It was hard, not to say impossible, for him to truly focus on what he had to do. And perhaps it was that same enchantment the one that wanted his eyes to find a certain quote that could easily summarize how he felt: _Truth to tell, the longer I live, the more I'm tempted to think that the only moderately worthwhile people in the world are you and I_.

And just like that, the spell he seemed to be under came hastily to an end when the door of the studio opened. Sébastien reacted instantly, standing in front of Sabina and practically shielding her entirely with his own body. She grabbed the back of his jacket and pulled gently when he slumped with relief.

“Belshaw.” he said the name of the man as he closed the door.

“How is it going?” he asked as he approached them. His hair was still tousled and the dressing gown he was wearing clearly didn't belong to him judging by the quality of the silk. He rubbed his face with a hand, as if it could fix the afterglow his mind and body were still going through. “Any progress?”

“We just barely began.” Sébastien answered after Sabina emerged from behind him. The amusement and mischief in his friend's eyes when he saw her wearing his clothes irked him enough to ask: “Shouldn't you stay with her and make sure she won't wake up?”

“She is sleeping. Turns out, she's tired.” he hummed as he leaned against the desk.

Sabina rolled her eyes. He truly had a curious way of seeing women, like most men she met. That only made her think that Sébastien was truly exceptional. Someone she wanted to keep in her life.

“We are busy.” she informed him before she decided to resume working.

“My clothes fit you well, Mademoiselle.” Belshaw commented.

That earned him another look from Sébastien. Was his dear friend showing jealousy? How deliciously endearing. He cupped the nape of his neck.

“Not so well, I find them terribly bothersome. I can barely move.” Her flowy dresses, even if having been tailored for a different body type, at least allowed her legs to move with as much room as possible.

“I bet Sébastien loved to follow you around tonight, huh?” he asked to the younger man who finally smacked his hand away from him. His cheeks were warm and Belshaw could barely keep himself from thinking abou it. Sébastien was far from being virginal or celibate, he knew that very well. After all, it was Belshaw the one who paid for the other's very first experience when the boy turned twenty. It was pitiful how he could never capture a woman's interest for longer then a couple of hours. A bit too shy, a bit too insecure. _He'll grow out of it_ , he kept telling himself.

Maybe it was the hour of the night, the fact that Sabina didn't look all that much like a respectable lady or the fact that the bubbly energy of having had an organsm a few minutes ago, but something fanned his need to tease and pry.

He wanted to know the extent of the desire they had for each other. Maybe even to _witness_ it.

Belshaw licked his lips and tilted his head to the side, noticing how Sabina ignored his comment. No blush on her cheeks, only a small smirk on her mouth. Sébastien was dealing with the shame for the both of them. He would be the one to hide. Probably bury his head on the crook of her neck or even the space between her breasts.

The sudden reminder of their friendship and the fact that the door clicked for the third time that night made him bounce.

Madame entered inside of the studio without the smallest hint of worry about the fact that there were two strangers in her property. She approached them calmly, soundless, her bare feet barely made a sound over the wooden floor that it went unnoticed by the young couple who reacted when Belshaw babbled:

“Ah, this... Uh.” It felt like his charm and his wit jumped out of the window. Belshaw swallowed thickly, visibly trying to come up with an excuse right on the spot.

“I see you are having a reunion I wasn't invited to.” she smiled, crossing her arms under her chest. Her dressing gown matched the one Belshaw was wearing. It was fair to say that the purple silk enhanced her beauty, offering a nice contrast to her blond hair. “Who do we have here? Friends of yours?” Madame rested a hand over Belshaw's shoulder, stepping closer towards Sébastien and Sabina.

As he did before, he covered her with his own body, with his hands on her waist and her head between his shoulder blades. It goes without saying that Sabina was not in Madame's circle. Perhaps not even her uncle, considering how quiet the manor was: no clock in sight. Still, it was dangerous for her to be seen and in the future recognized. Sébastien promised no one would know that she was there that night and no one would.

“We have a very shy one... Step forward, boy, I am not dangerous.” Madame teased, reached out for Sabina's arm, ignoring the words that came out of Belshaw's mouth. At that moment, no one was listening to him. Sébastien moved so he would still stand between the two women. “Very defensive of your friend, I see.” Madame smirked. Maybe it was the fact she had at least a decade more than Sébastien what made her feel so at peace with the situation.

“We'll leave, Madame. We'll leave and never come back. We are sorry, we shouldn't be here.” Sébastien spoke quickly, seeing that his friend wouldn't be able to get them out of trouble this time. He never saw Belshaw so caught off guard. Maybe not defenseless, but for the first time... entirely useless.

“Let me take a look at you, first.” Madame touched his chin and held his face in her delicate fingers. She was beautiful beyond words. Her skin was smooth and her eyes daring and bright. _Intimidating_. “Don't look away.”

“Madame.”

“What's your name?”

Sébastien attempted to look at Belshaw, but she didn't allow such thing to happen. That added to Sabina's arms, now tightly wrapped around his stomach, made his legs tremble.

What if they tell Martel about this? He will never let him see her again. He might end up in trouble, in jail for abducting a young girl.

“I'm not going to get you in trouble. Look at me.” she repeated, getting a little more stern. “What's your name?”

“Sébastien.” If he could take all the attention and keep Sabina from getting in trouble, then...

“Why are you in my house, Sébastien?” Her hand moved down his neck and Sabina's arms lifted from his stomach to his chest, as a tight cross, protective and _possessive_. “Come on, boy. I see you want to join the conversation.” Madame held one of Sabina's wrists and tugged playfully.

“I allowed them inside the house.” Belshaw finally stepped forward, gathering his wits.

“I could figure that out myself, love.” she waved her hand at him, not so interested in anything he had to say about it. “What is that you were doing?” she pulled onto Sabina's forearm again and the young woman slowly stepped from behind Sébastien.

He swallowed thickly and wrapped his arm around her, still protective and wanting to fulfill his promise.

“We wanted to make a copy of your book.” Sébastien said. “We will leave. Please, Madame.”

“Do I look mad, Sébastien?” she tilted her head, teasing him. “Let's take a look at this b—” Madame grabbed the working cap Sabina was wearing to see her face properly. The younger woman didn't react at the right time and her thick hair fell all over her shoulders. “ _Oh_.” she said rather cheerfully.

Sabina looked rather displeased and that made Sébastien's heart twist with agony. Oh, what if she was angry at him? What if that got her in trouble? He leaned even closer to her, as the long locks of dark hair kept resting over his arm that he was unable to take away from her shoulders.

“A young woman dressed as a boy...” Madame whispered to herself and Belshaw turned around with a groan.

What? What is going on?

“Let me take a look at you.” Madame asked.

Sabina was awfully quiet, perhaps used to being commanded but _still_ disliking it tremendously. What else could be done in that situation? They were caught red-handed.

Madame cupped her face with both of her hands before she brushed the hair away from her forehead. Sabina was scowling and Sébastien's fingers dug on her shoulder, moving her closer to his body and attempting to release her from the woman's touch.

More jealousy.

“Mesmerizing.” Madame whispered to herself before her hands moved down her neck as she did with Sébastien.

When her soft and delicate hands rested over the concealed swell of her breasts, Sébastien stepped forward and stood between them again. His cheeks were on fire but his expression said it all. Madame snickered and patted his face before she added:

“The both of you, just as beautiful. Why don't you come with us to the bedroom? You'll be far more comfortable and have plenty of fun. I promise.” she grinned before she looked back at Belshaw over her shoulder.

Then he attempted to get involved in the conversation:

“They are not even married yet, Roselyn.” he explained, briefly looking at the younger two. “You won't have that much fun with them. They are as _clueless_ as they can be.” That simple word seemed to irk both Sébastien and Sabina just as much. “You'll get bored very easily.”

“Don't you get tired of being wrong, Étienne?” Madame huffed when the man barely let her speak. “There's little that can be more thrilling than witnessing” she used the same word that popped in Belshaw's mind minutes ago. “a first time. First reactions are hard to conceal...” she caressed Sébastien's cheek tenderly. Sabina pulled him back, away from her.

Equally as jealous, apparently.

But that little comment watered the seed that was planted in Belshaw's mind. He was willing to blame Madame for the thoughts he had earlier that night. The sudden and desperate need to see, to be in the same room as it happened, took over him with more strength than it did before. He observed the both of them, tightly together, with their hands and arms touching, wanting to protect each other from the older woman. That was enough for him to envision Madame's oppulent room, the delicate sheets of her bed caressing both of their bodies. With Sabina's hands on Sébastien's jaw, holding him in place while she kissed him. With his loving fingers tracing soft lines over her waist.

He wanted to see. For them to open the door and let him peek at something he allowed to happen. After all, he was the link between the two of them, right? He introduced Sébastien to the Martel sisters.

He had the right to see his beloved friend pleading to his future wife to give him as much as he wanted from her. And for her to indulge him until their thighs would burn and beg for some rest. Belshaw rubbed his mouth and hissed, closing his eyes.

_What the Hell was he even thinking about?_

The silence stretched enough to become awkward until Sabina cleared her throat, rather uncomfortable. That was enough to make Madame smile and ask:

“Not the first, then?”

The fact the grip on Sébastien turned a little weak made the man blink and turn his head to look at her. She looked as insecure as she did when he first saw her standing close to her cousin Maude. He parted his lips as she looked away from him.

 _Oh_.

“Please, Madame.” Sabina eventually mumbled, wanting to find a way out of that situation. “We need to make a copy of that book. We need the money to get married.” She modified the reality a bit in order to get away with this silly little crime.

“Is that so?” Madame crossed her arms again as she looked at them with an entertained look. “Ah, Étienne, if you wanted to help your friends, why didn't you tell me? I'd hate to think you see me as a foolish woman you can just trick.” she sighed and shook her head. She ignored his apology as she stepped towards the desk, picking both volumes. “This, right?” Sabina nodded. “Mhmm...”

“... _Please_.” Sabina repeated and Sébastien could easily tell to she _hated_ to be the one doing the pleading.

“Who am I to stand in the way of a young couple?” Madame offered her the novel that she quickly took from her hands. “I want them back, darling. You don't want to get in trouble with someone who found you in their house, uninvited, way past midnight. Understood?” Sabina nodded. “And if you don't make enough money... I'm sure we could convince you to have second or even third time. Everything changes with an audience.”

“Just let them go, Roselyn.” Belshaw practically pleaded at that.

“Fine, fine!” she huffed. “You are such a bore, Étienne, you truly are...”

“I'll make sure they are done in a couple of weeks, alright?” he promised as he urged the other two to leave with his eyes.

Sébastien held Sabina's hand and walked towards the door.

“Let me walk them out, I have a few advices for them! I've been married for almost twenty years, after all!” they heard her giggle, actually entertained about what just happened.

*** * ***

Sabina was oddly quiet in the walk back home. She nodded, here and there, when he suggested splitting the volumes and working on them for about a week. Then they could exchange them and perhaps they would have the work done in less than a fortnight. If she pretended to be sick and focused most of her time on drawing and he gave up on seeing her and working on anything else, then...

Still, it felt so odd for him to talk and for her to agree with him. He was desperate to get any signal from her. Was she mad at him? Maybe she no longer wanted him, maybe...

When they arrived the manor, the sun still had a couple hours before rising again. It was dark but he could still see worry on her features.

“I can help you climb...” he offered with a small voice.

Sabina nodded absently.

Sébastien still didn't even dare to rest his hands on her waist to lift her up. He played with his fingers and forced himself to ask:

“Are you angry at me? I'm so sorry, I didn't think suc—”

“I'm not mad at you, Sébastien.” she sighed and denied. “You didn't do anything wrong. I'm not angry, I promise.” she even squeezed his forearm with her free hand. “In fact, I'm worried you might be displeased with me...”

“ _Never_.” he said instantly. “Why would I?”

Sabina licked her lips and turned to face him properly. She raised her hand and caressed his arm over the fabric. He looked at her with his bright blue eyes. He was genuinely concerned that she could be worrying about something she wasn't sharing with him.

“You heard what she said...” And that was a little vague since Madame said plenty and each insinuation was more scandalous than the one before. “About... first times...” she added, shrugged uncomfortably.

“I did.” Sébastien nodded.

“It doesn't bother you? That I have... _some_ experience?” she finally asked. Right after the words came out of her mouth, she licked her lips, like she wanted to swallow them again.

For some reason, he never thought that Sabina would be worried about such thing. He considered that she was above the idea that a woman lost worth if she was ever touched by a man. After all, she wanted to make money for her sisters and it didn't look like any man would stop her from accomplishing such. Still, the evident preoccupation all over her features told him that, after all, Sabina was submitted to ideologies that while might not be her own, affected her directly for the mere reason of being a woman.

On Tuesday, when he asked about the doctor, he didn't do it out of jealousy or because it bothered him to think about her with any other man. That was genuine curiosity. In fact, he stood between Sabina and Madame previously that night because now, he wanted to be as much as she already was for him. He wanted to be everything she craved, but what she did in the past before she even knew who he was... _Well_. How could that be relevant in any way?

So he could easily ease her mind with a simple word. He could make the worry go away and release her from such useless burden. But instead, after the intense desire he experienced ever since he was allowed to breathe in her scent, he felt desperate for a little more. He would need new fantasies if he was going to spend at least two weeks away from her. He needed something that would make his lower stomach burn and slowly consume him with lust.

That was the main reason why Sébastien said with a small voice but plenty of conviction:

“If you have _some_ experience, I would want you to show me the extent of your knowledge...”

And then he decided to gather all of his courage to look at her. The moonlight reflected on her eyes just barely. The only point of light in the middle of the night, like a dim lighthouse: instead of keeping him away from the shore, luring him in and closer every time. Sébastien exhaled and tilted his head a bit, not handling the silence all too well.

Sabina crouched and left the book it took them so much trouble to get over the grass. That alone made him feel important. So stupidly important, like she didn't want anything to bother her at the moment. Sébastien wet his lips as she stepped forward, resting a hand over his shoulder. She caressed the seam of his jacket as he looked down at her, silently pleading for her to do with him as much as she wanted and there was no way she could resist that look.

Standing over her tiptoes was necessary, considering that the old and stolen boots did nothing to help her with the height difference. Sébastien's hands were gentle over her waist, hugged by the firm fabric of the vest. He closed his eyes as soon as he felt her hands caressing his neck and his jaw. He swallowed and nudged her cheek with his nose, capturing her scent. It warmed up his body and encouraged his heart to speed up. With his lips parted, he attempted to blindly find and follow her lips, wanting to be kissed by her.

Sabina didn't deny such quiet imploration.

Sébastien had a long and prominent nose. Beautiful, gave his face personality and made his features a little squared but at the same time, matched those sweet eyes and turned him into one of the most handsome men she ever met. His beautiful personality and the tentativeness of his lips only made him even more remarkable in her eyes. The only thing she had to do was slightly tilting her head to the side, to keep their noses from bumping, and then she tasted his lips: delicate, docile and desperate to follow hers.

Sébastien's heart was right on his throat. It was beating so loudly that he could even feel his pulse on his temples. His body reacted so vividly that his hands trembled, still over her waist and barely daring to press his palms properly against the curve of the small of her back. Her lips were passionate and sucked and tugged his lightly, making him sigh and still lean forward for more, like this was something he was denied for many, many years. Like a need that survived _centuries_ just to keep him hungry and desperate for her.

He quickly agreed to stepping back when she pushed her hips forward, tightly pressed against his. Sébastien only slumped a little bit when his back found the wall of the manor right behind him. Then his arms wrapped tightly around her waist as she held his face in place, caressing his cheeks, enjoying the texture of his beard over her soft palms. Her thumb over his chin encouraged him to open his mouth and she slipped her tongue past his lips.

A thrill caressed down her spine when she both heard and felt him moan against her mouth.

Who knew that a kiss could offer such a lonely man his so craved sense of belonging?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 [19th century] Forgery enacts a violation on several fronts: it signifies a transgression against property, identity, the authority of law, the nation-state, and the economic system. It is a crime therefore deserving of the harshest of punishments. Source: [Sara Malton](https://link.springer.com/chapter/10.1057%2F9780230619746_1)
> 
> 2 Basically the bed shift or night shift was a type of chemise. It was made from plain linen or thicker cotton and worn by both men and women. As opposed to daytime chemises, which tended to ended a little below the knee, bed shifts usually reached a little lower, to somewhere between the calf and ankle. Source: Sewingempire.wordpress.com
> 
> 3 It was a loose-fitting, shirt-like cotton or linen jacket. They are tied at the neck and gathered a little at the back. They also feature a wide collar to keep the throat and chest covered at night. Source: Sewingempire.wordpress.com
> 
> 4 The French Revolution is largely responsible for altering the standard male dress. During the revolution, clothing symbolized the division between the upper classes and the working-class revolutionaries. French rebels earned the nickname sans-culottes, or "the people without breeches” because of the loose floppy trousers they popularized. Source: Wikipedia
> 
> 5 This surname is of Old French origin, and originated as a nickname for someone of a cheerful, pleasant demeanour or disposition, or for someone considered to be good looking, derived from the Old French elements "beu, bel", fair, lovely and "chere", face, countenance. Source: Surnamedb.com
> 
> 6 Orpheus was the son of the Muse Calliope and therefore a grand musician. His wife was a dryad, Eurydice, who also attracted the attentions of Aristaeus. Aristaeus pursued her until she stepped on a poisonous snake and was forced into the Underworld. Orpheus was determined to retrieve his beloved. He journeyed down to the underworld [...]. He encountered Hades, who initially refused to release Eurydice, but Orpheus's music so touched Persephone that she pleaded Orpheus's case, and Hades relented. There was one condition: that Orpheus not look back on their way out. Of course, Orpheus was worried that Eurydice was not behind him, and he fatefully glanced back to see if she was following him. She disappeared back into Hades, and he lost her forever. Unable to live without her, Orpheus spent the rest of his days wandering in aimless sorrow before he was finally murdered by maenads, the drunken followers of Dionysus. Source: Thehellenictimes.com

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on **[Tumblr](https://persipneiwrites.tumblr.com/)**.


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